Art is fiction

I am trying to paint you a picture-
of the hills and the valleys 
just outside your door
with the streets and the alleys 
laid out to the shore
and just as I finish, 
as each time before.
I see you walk easy 
down roadways of yore.

And up from beneath you
in neat little rows,
I see that behind you
a rose garden grows.
I don’t think you see them,
I don’t think you know,
you’re changing the landscape
wherever you go.

I am trying to paint you a picture
but never can get it just right.

I guess I’ll start over again.

Author's Note

You can't step in the same river twice, nor can you paint a picture of the river you see before you.