Self-Portrait as Lucian Freud's "Double Portrait" (1985-86)

Am I the woman, artificially still, arranged as if in sleep,

or death? Am I the dog, nestled beside her, its jaw tense,

dreaming, ready to snarl or bite? Am I the paint, deep

and patchy, ridged  brushstrokes blowing from edge

to edge? Or am I the canvas, flat, transparent, and square?

Am I the navy of her dress, her pale buttery skin, the grayish-

pink of the dog’s vulnerable belly? Am I the paint brush, the hair

Of rabbit, badger, or horse? Am I the shadow beneath the weight

of her arm, casually shielding her eyes, or is her pose a defense

against the artist’s gaze? I’m the suggestion of a wall, the blank

bedsheet, the too white bed, the dog’s mottled fur, the sense

the world is one indecipherable scene and art makes it think.

What, exactly, is it the subject of this painting? That which we see:

woman, dog, paint? Or the space between the painting and me?