malkhut shebnetzach
She walks down the basement studio stairs
to wash the last of yesterday's paintbrushes,
finds her self again across from canvas
daubing squares and shine upon old layers,
she and easel pausing time once more
among the artworks stacked against the walls
instead of shown--though she's less critical
of her decisions than she'd been before
the wording wasn't will, instead was might,
before the question was about a life
ongoing, not about if life's lived right,
before a melded answer came to light--
Returning after she could have been done
the creator smiles, her fountain flowing on
Returning after she could have been done
the creator smiles, her fountain flowing on
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