Under brilliant light, she casts shadows
Her hair of layers of black, grey, and white
Highlights of chalk, smile of charcoal
Light conspires to birth a delicate form

By nature, the art is all illusion and
Without hesitation, he concedes to the lie
An indulgent lie and a delusion perhaps
'but this is as real as it gets for me', he shrugs
What an odd marriage of resignation and persistence

'Is it hair fluttering in the wind?'
No, merely contrast -- black white black white black white
'Does her gaze meet mine?'
No, merely composition
'She is smiling at me!'
Lines
'And the sun on her lips?'
Space

-- Portrait drawing with charcoal


What are your impression of the mood of this poem?