Life Drawing in December, Late

He itches to shift poses, but sits still.
Surrounding him, muted sea green
of wall treatment and a squadron

of squinting pupils anchored
on pencil points at arm’s length.

The old man volunteers his body

as a model for aspiring disciples
of the human figure each Friday
to gain a humble honorarium

and a moderate sense of belonging
outside his one-bedroom home.

Working to capture musculature

beneath the aging trunk’s layers,

the spark under wrinkled eyelids,
the sandy blond far behind him

feels her mind go to the immaculate body

she knows must be forming itself

alongside her front door stairway

as snow continues to fall, mothered
in a corner where earth, her own house,
and their stepwise liaison converse.

The soft December light follows the stars

to this accumulating drift, piercing its side,

plying chiaroscuro in its ridged countenance

until the final clarity of light
recalls all winter shadows to itself,
summoning the fallen body upward.