Blind Painting the Nude

I've been the naked woman in the window
while light pattered over bed sheets.
My hair was upturned and just a slip
fell around an ear where a pearl—

I've been the naked woman sewing
with almost noon hammered over my
cuttings. I've been a naked woman

slung to the dark town, spun visible
as the rain sloughed from my torso.
I've wished for umbrellas,
armour against the thousands of wet
cameras. At the same time, coveted
devotion, a discus shot back upon the lens.

Modelled in the bondage of drape, they languish
on beds, couches, under lamplight.
...................................I've seen a woman

blighted in daybreak pinks and backdropped
by the bluest of walls. This morning, shutter
cords twist in my palm while light roughs
the outline of a mark. A brand, a mole
on my shoulder. Maybe a cancer, a pea
I've been a woman with one hand on the blinds
shuttled back and forth under thimbles, his brushes.

.............................................................................