Oil on canvas

The instructor stands in front of the class, 

red smock knotted at her navel. 

It’s easier if you break it down into shapes.

She drags burnt umber to form a cube

of forehead, brow, nose, jaw. Afterward, 

I can’t stop seeing empty diamonds

of spiderweb stretched across cacti. 

A thousand Texas plates, all rectangles. 

The wet ring left over from a young dad’s 

10 am beer, the S of a California kingsnake 

flattened in the middle of the road.

The crooked crescent of your mouth. Your wife’s

blue boots making triangles by the door.