can I sit here look at the paint under my fingernails
see the ink smeared across my cheek
glance at the pile of paper and paint tarping the surface of this room
light shines in
a glancing ray touches down on my lap
can I sit here alone smile at the galleried display of my efforts
and find the pleasure of sharing without making a call
it is here whether I send it out to find an admirer or hold it in the files of my heart
it is here for me
I can practice leaving the phone on the ledge
and knowing the joy of its evidence