Nothing is a painting,
Though it may look like one,
Or a photograph of one
Might seem like one.
Nothing moves inside your house,
And the clouds don’t move, lying at ease
Above the surrounding hills.
Nothing is a painting,
Not because away from your painting
You age, or make changes in your house.
The painting doesn’t know this.
The painter has done things already
To age the trees, the water, the sky,
In the way they are painted.
Nothing is a painting.
The technique of the painter tells you why.
Nothing is a painting.
Who would have thought a painting was a clock,
Like everything else?
I do.
Because I remember you.