Patrick Dennis - The Artist

She paints with a rich blend of natural ochre
and the heavenly colours of sifted grace;
and like a child she follows on the woven fabric
the faint trace of a form divine by the dark light in a winter stable.

What we call art - poetry, music, tricks of sight -
are rough copies of strange masterpieces
too subtle for human sight, and eyes that cannot see
divine faint smudges of caressing hands.

Patrick Dennis

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-artist-55/