The Canvas Life

A drowsy fog lifting
As heavy limbs come to life,
Moaning in confusion,
Stiff kinks aching
After being frozen in place.
Blurred images slowly focusing
As golden framing emerges
On either side;
Odd textures blooming
Upon newly formed nerves,
Like soft strokes of
Thinly veiled memories
Concealed in lightweight,
Breathless paint.
Cocking a curious eyebrow
To the enriching background
Of a stooped throned chair
Pressed against the richest
Greens-
A heartbeat now
Of little service.
A hand presses against
The supple material,
Unable to extend
Any further
To the living world
Beyond,
Ensconced, captured,
Brushed onto leathery skin.
Sunlight streams through
Familiar glass windows,
But the warmth
Is lost on the canvas,
Never to be felt under
The wraps therein.