Watching someone watching, such simple
But intimate moments, gallery in Maine,
Large sunlit windows, river overlooking,
Open spaces, polished hardwood floors.
(I dare not say when or where.) She was
Admiring, studying paintings, oils and
Watercolours, seascapes, lighthouses,
Farmlands, every color, sky and sea,
Single brushstrokes it seemed. Another
Glancing look, moments of pure intensity,
Discerning dark eyes, tilt of head, sun-
Burnished face, paint-streaked hair.

All this overwhelming, I retreated to
Distant corner, collection of boxed
Greetings cards, more my artistic speed,
Grabbed single box, breast clutched,
Fast steps to check-out, where I was
Greeted by her, dark eyes, brown hair.
“Hope you like these,” she stated,
Embarrassing connections made: 
Artist, paintings, gallery, boxed cards.
“We have lunchtime open studio,
Local artists painting. You’re welcome
To attend. Do you paint?”

“Boats mostly,” I replied, half laughing.
“Hauled out for the season, dirty power-
Washing, new paint, new zincs, through
Hulls.” She smiled, right hand extended
With business card. “It’s an art, keeping
Wet line whilst painting fiberglass hull.”
She began painting boat names, hulls
And sterns. “I called them Seascrapes:
Wire brush, sanding block, summer work,
Helped pay for art school. We have to
Start somewhere, water-working families
On coast of Maine.” 

Thanks for reading.
 

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