Stroked

He marked his niche,

he set his pastel borders

in candid engines of color,

squiggled doodles

in feverish zeal. 
Rivers to plateaus, 

stars to planets,

or cat sisters for dog brothers.

Sinkable ships in disjoint lines

lay canvassed, in an untidy

coherence of naivety.

These strokes, plethora 
of nascent hope

basked on squeaking spotless teak.

Scuttled he merrily                                            

on his little proud feat,

only to be sternly rebuked.  

Without mutiny or fight  

he cried guilty, ran -

to his territory in panic, 

used rapid strokes to undo

only to spread the color,

blurring his masterpiece,

trading his potential for approval

in her secure, peaceful arms.