The Brush of an Artist

The Brush of an Artist

Before I drag the brush
Routinely and unenthusiastically
Through my hair,
Something catches my eye;
A single strand of raven hair
Divine in its existence.
I marvel at this glorious sight
And fear how easily
I might have missed it.
Here, in this brush, is
The symbol of my happiness;
The thread of her existence
So delicately and intricately
Woven through mine.
As I stare
In awe of this miracle,
I find the supplies to create
The only art I can;
Words carefully printed onto paper.