In any case, the literal forms give way
to something spectral, nameless. His palette shrinks
ti gray, blue, white--the colors of charity.
Horizons sink and fade,
trees draw back till they are little more than frames,
then they too disappear.
Finally the canvas itself begins to vibrate
with waning light,
as if the wind could paint.
And we too, at last, stare into a space
which tells us nothing,
except that the world can vanish along with our need for it.