He was hit on the head early in life
by a large pine cone which had red beans
on its surface smell of wet earth.
“Later you were habitually standing up
and cracking your head under cupboard
doors left open as you busied in the kitchen,
grazed your head passing beneath low door jambs,
generally displayed a difficulty with practice and ...
“All this comes later, I could draw an onion ...”
“But your drawing was wonderfully discrepant,
always technically bereft of accuracy.”
“It took training–
the cone breaks noisily even–
after heavy rainfall...”
“And your head hurts...”
“And pain takes my portrait inside my skin.