I can see my fingers glowing

With that particularly human

Tone, when each tiny wrinkle and pore

Captures the midday sun like the

Undulating current of an Ohio Valley

Wheatfield. Gold beneath blue

Beneath yellow beneath red

Beneath silver. A Renaissance

Puzzle to be solved only

Through that perfect mix of

Oil, turpentine, and crushed stone.

I watch my fingers bend and roll the light

Around, across knuckle and nail,

Like a whale with an audience.

All this to sign my name.