Art and Vulnerability

(I Showed him my notebook/ the underside of my soul released/in scribbles on pages-- the Innocense Mission)

I wrote a poem about Gordon's painting "Only the one who knows longing knows what I've suffered." I told him about it, partly because I wanted him to know that his art inspired me, but also I wanted him to know that I had written something at all, especially after his recent, heartening encouragement of my work--his plea to me to continue with it at all costs.

This is the second time I've written a poem about a painting of his-- the first time was about a year ago, and it took him a week to get back to me. And when he did reply it was to say that he needed more time, because the poem had made him speechless.

I guess, in light of that, the absence of an immediate reply this time shouldn't alarm or disconcert me, but you know, it does. I am left to wonder "Does he hate it?" "Does he get it?" "Would he tell me if he hated it?"

If we are really getting closer, there should be room for him to dislike something I've done and tell me about it--but my writing has always been the purest and best version of who I am--the part of me with which he connects the most deeply, and holds in the highest esteem. Maybe now that's been compromised and he just doesn't know how to say it....