I was early for my appointment with the sun today,
January nights are longer and darker than those in May.
I read and ate waiting for her company,
finally she lit up the oxygen sea.
Proceeding to study the art of old,
I replicated the stories untold,
except through eyes, gesture, and expression
each new face left a new impression
incorporating theirs into mine
examining each shade each line
till my hand did what it was told
into the sketchbook these trapped characters fold.
I lift my eyes once more to her
to plead for sunlight, yet i was sure
the day's promise was gloom
thus intent on sleeping I retreated to my room.
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