Magpie tale # 107 The Painting

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Once a week

 he went to the Art Institute

 to stare at her.

 The brushstrokes captured

 the eyes of his Isabella,

the woman of long ago

that he lost to Fernando.

He knew she would be 70 now,

not the raven haired beauty

captured before him

in the sensual values of light and dark.

A painting as large as his desire

that still burned him every calendar day.

Did she have a good life?

Did she have regret?

Did she ever think of him

in the dark silence of night

as he had of her?

He unfolded a handkerchief

on his lap,in front of the painting,

 lifted out a ring

and began to cry, as he had every week

since the painting appeared 

on the walls of this public place,

for all to see.

Once he painted it just for his eyes,

now everyone could see what he loved

and lost.