O clear star that with your rays,
how did you live on the earth,
the dirt with all those primal
portraits and immediate
judgements?
She was there to look at;
she was only the façade,
but your life was looking,
seeing what others
did not:
the colours the shape
proportions, perspectives
and smells. Lifting
the soul
the intellect in front
of the picture.
She was with you to
pose, but you, with
your Portovenere
passions caught more,
the strange
conversation, questions
that arose between the
sitting and the
vacillating. Moments
that only the patient,
the search for substance
bring forward.
And now you stare from her feet,
lying in the earth
below that clear star
a rich core
lost
on a nation of
surface seekers.
Aucun commentaire:
Publier un commentaire