ancient art

I think of
the people who
went out of their
way, fought, to create
art. It's easy nowadays:
grab a pen, a piece of
paper. Nobody is
denying you
these simple
satisfactions.

I'm talking about
those who grabbed
their spades, went
out day after day, and
dug for clay of the perfect
color. Their pictures hung
up on the walls, forcing
them to go on, the dedication
refusing them slumber.

I'm talking about
the people who had
to steal from farmers
to replicate the color
of a lover's flushed skin,
or the sadness behind anger.

I am talking to
you about these
people because
I can feel them
within my skin,
still searching
as if they wish
to grab the gold
from the sky and
pour it onto a
canvas to give
her smile the
right light.