Communion

stepping back to observe the work,

its contrasting layers
formed by the collaboration
of various disputing artists,

realization strikes sparking a desire

set my painting ablaze

or to whitewash
over the graffiti
or, maybe, a simple do-over

But there is no such thing
as an empty canvas
even the fibers woven
and prepped and stretched
have their story

my Teacher comes
knowing the brushstrokes,
of my over-produced landscape,
my inheritance
a crude interpretation
of the assignment
and with gentle offertory,
a new brush with ancient handle
dipped in red, 

gripped 

His hand covering mine,
we paint