i
it seems
it should be
by its seeming to be
as it seems
that often painters are poets
and poets painters in the heart of their imaginations
(which is as real a place as any for either)
because a poet poets when his knees are sunk in the earth
and his eyes are turned in the heavens
and the space of his soul is rendered flat and forever
so it can stretch across the void like a drum
as an image resounding in the infinite
through the conduit of his longing
grounded in the broken beyond
skin intact
painting is just that
an action and an act
praying to touch the world beyond the one we see
in the caverns of our eyes
where everyone is as far away as our dreams are far from us
and shocked at the touch and touching of the world
she is seized in its currents
a statue in the snow
beauty is a moment out of time
now passing
now gone
you might squash it flat in anger and despair
or make it almost in the hope of nearly there
sometimes something like the world is even more than it can be
because we are always everything we are
and everything only nearly
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