Fine incisions written as tatters say the sea has been restless for ages. The tea kettle outside the painting purrs today will start out calm.
It is enough to know these things without having to say them. Wyeth’s painting holds them before us.
Beyond the curtain is a road leading to the sea, to whales and fishermen with sore red hands. And to you, and to me.
*This poem was first published in the Ekphrastic Review