My larger poem (90 lines) is nearly finished. I had a problem with the ending, which I think I've resolved. The poem had come to me "whole" in the sense that after thinking about it for many months, a window opened upon the entirety, and I wrote it through in an afternoon and evening, start to near finish. After a bit of despair over how the poem might close, it occurred to me that it does not close--the artist begins again with a new painting suggested by the last brushstrokes of this one.
This is his obsession, after all.
Once I realized this, the ending--the painter's new beginning--came rather quickly.
If two lines after a lifetime and several days of dithering is "quick."
I have some pronoun issues to address. And I will need to read the poem aloud to myself, smoothing the text, until it makes as much sense to my ears as it finally makes to my eyes.
"Opacity gives way. Transparency is the mystery."