The hand, usually bold and precise
when drawing other subjects
while sketching its owner, stutters
in fretful stops and starts as if only
now learning the skill of drawing.
The eyes, normally clear-sighted and keen
while seeking the truth within others,
gazes at the mirrored reflection noticing
only the doppelganger instead
of the soul laid bare to vision.
The heart, normally compassionate
and giving to those of its acquaintance,
hardens when considering its own behavior,
no immediate benefit of doubt nor
thoughtful self-consideration given.
The portrait complete, merely a rude draft,
a tintype of the artist’s psyche, shadowed
by self-doubt and recriminations, a hazy
outline in hues faded by the internal censor,
a shadowy afterimage of the soul’s truth.