A Single Dot Was Enough

At first
it was a boat.

There was a mast,
there was a prow,
and a place where a person would sit.

I

stepped back

from the painting.

The boat
grew small.

The mast
grew thin.

The prow too
grew faint.

What could be seen
was one black mark.

“Is that
a boat?”

“Yes.”

“I can't see
anything.”

I
looked again.

The small mark
was still
a boat.

I lifted
the brush.

I brought it
close to the dot.

One more touch
and even the dot
seemed likely to vanish.

One horizon.

A wide sea.

On it,
one dot.

The rest
I did not paint.