I hold the brush in my shaking hand.
Time passes by like hourglass sand.
The stars are shining, the moon is new.
I sit to paint and think of you.
Sitting in front of the empty page.
I feel my guilt and remember your rage.
How could I throw our love away?
I let you go—couldn’t make you stay.
A swipe of yellow and dabs of blue.
I use my brush like I used you. Those heavy lines that curve and bend.
They show...