Portrait I. After, we lie on the bed in a nest of blankets and pillows and I lay my head on her lap and I move my head up her body until her breast rests on my cheek and I see her smile. Craning my head back a little I see the window framing a cloudless blue sky and feel the radiating warmth of the out-of-frame sun on my face and chest and feel the shared warmth of her on my back and my neck and my arm draped across her leg and I close my eyes. She lightly places the tip of her finger on the top of my head and then slowly moves it down my forehead between my brows along the length of my nose down to my upper lip tracing my mouth end to end to end before gently pressing her finger tip against my lips. She says, "I will paint your portrait." And when I go to the kitchen and slice some bread and fruit she goes to the next room to her easel. II. Later, through the door frame I watch her on her tall stool leaning towards the canvas a slight curve to her back holding her brush like a baton pulling it slowly tapping it quickly focused completely completely sure When she leans back and lowers her brush and closes her eyes I step lightly over the weathered wooden floorboards barefoot on the balls of my feet one step two step three until a loose board creaks and she turns and I see her smile. On the easel sun falls on the canvas she had prepared with a thick layer of gesso roughly applied, now under a thin wash -- a patchwork of pale blue and light light yellow that fade into one another without blending -- covering the rough surface, except for a thin pink wedge two thirds of the way down opening on the left edge tapering to a point nearing the right edge shaded on its bottom side in crimson I stroke my chin and I nod and I say, "It looks just like me." And she turns to the canvas and she pauses. She says, "Yes, I think so." And she takes my hand and she leads me to the next room. III. Again, she studies me sitting by the window in the afternoon light in the hard wooden chair in eternal stillness although she assures me stillness is not required when posing but I am a faithful subject. Except my eyes that track a dust mote passing before the window and then follow the tip of her brush handle that dances over the top of the canvas like a ballerina on a stage and then to her unruly hair, and her intent eyes and her cheekbones, and her slender neck, and her bare shoulder. She rises from her tall stool and crosses to the metal sink in the corner to wash her brushes and I stretch all of me and I circle around the easel and I view the emerging portrait. The shoulders are broad. The chin is strong. The thin pink wedge bisects my chest. The smile is tender. The eyes are thoughful. She watches me from across the room as she washes her brushes. She says, "You are pleased." And I think I see her smile. IV. Kitchen bound, I take a detour to her studio a detour to her easel a detour to the portrait that she assures me no longer requires a posing subject a portrait transmuted by the lowering sun Detail replaces sketch work adding dimension and texture and richer grades of color and a crease across the forehead and jagged curling edges on the pink wedge. Back on track, in the kitchen I take two wine glasses off the shelf and close the cabinet door and in its glass panel study my reflection. My forehead is smooth. From the next room, she says, "Let's go somewhere tonight." V. After work, I saw light from her studio painting a bright rectangle on the dusky hallway floor and stepped heavily across the weathered wooden floorboards and I saw her facing the canvas erect on her tall stool intent, appraising. A thin grainy dark wash covered the canvas dulling everything underneath -- the blue and yellow patches, the seated figure -- obscured by a grey scrim except for the pink wedge now a bright crimson wedge shaded pink on its top side. Its jagged curling edges and stark relief against the shrouded background seemed a surreal tear to me. I thought the chin was still strong but I thought those broad sholders sloped and I thought the smile casual and I thought the thoughtful eyes aloof. She turned to me and paused. She said, "I think it's finished."