It is not without regret
I admit
that only now, standing near the gallery exit,
have my eyes matured

It has taken my own gray fading
to reveal
the timeless colors of the masters

Matisse’s red,
Picasso’s blue,
Da Vinci’s layers of dark
Monet’s green,
Pollock’s yellow,
Van Gogh’s mulberry bark
Warhol’s pink,
Galizia’s grape,
Rembrandt’s glowing gold
O’Keefe’s orange,
Goya’s gray,
Shame that it took growing old

For now I gaze upon these views
from eyes devoted to perfect hues
those of these masters
of human craft
immortal

And know the pleasure is all mine
for they’ve been dead a long, long time
I laugh;
In fact,
I chortle

Because I’m super alive
and looking at all their stuff
with operational eyes
(AKA Master Enough)

at least, for a little while longer
because I’m about to die, too 🙁
I guess no matter what we do
we’re all exactly the same