Blocked White

There is a blank canvas
in my room,
leaning on a yellow wall
six feet tall
it stands on the floor
it stands so it greets me
when I open the door
it stands so I can see it
when I go to bed
and when I wake up
it stands with a restlessness
like me

I'd like to think
it's watching over me
when I'm asleep
or out in the world
I'd like to think it worries
that I might run into dogs
in the streets or in my dreams
I'd like to think of
this tall white blankness
as a lover
or a friend
the soul mate I haven't met yet
but I know is already there
standing against my jaundiced walls
opposite my door
I'm here

I've been coating it white
after every failed attempt
a few things change in its whiteness
a few more faint lines
a few more bumps and nubs
a few more impressions of color
but still-
a silent and empty white- restless
and the blankness remains
a white a flag.