Painter Poem by danae kavouridi

If I was a good painter I would draw the air
I have stopped weeping now and scribbling my dreams.
Someone told me a story, it was about his dogs
they were locked in cages in his big green garden for half a day.
Another he, criticised me-
there is always someone better.
I would never draw that someone better.
There are thousands of words and none I can now whisper to him.
Sometimes it is only air, being exhaled in a painfully slow manner.
If the chest suddenly opened in half, the air would come out like an explosion.
Then the dogs would run around in the garden, plainly happy.