Sometimes the stitches run. No way to repair the ladder.
Even removing the weft makes crooked the weave.
The threads wear thin and waste away, vanish
Into the elbow contemplation of yesterday.
Wisdom is embodied in revelation’s lady: Venus-
Minerva-Liberty standing on a crescent moon
veiling in its blue heart a sailing ship and a mythical city.
Perhaps the Golden Age of Saints, perhaps the crimson-
Green aesthetic human spirit, highest ideals swayed us,
Pushed us away. So I came here to awaken the dream,
To find peace for the vision seen; longed for, impossible.
Mercurial, evanescent, unobtainable, illogical; identifiable
Enclosed, remote, untouchable ring within ring inextricable.
But I learn another thing: that beauty living
Is more intriguing than beauty on a string, and painting
Is better than photographs of great paintings,
Elusive, always gone…
Live each moment like a song, not in retrospect
Just present harmony.
People’s spirits plod by wearily, tired already
In their teens. Few have alacrity.
If only I could open that door,
Find and enter that luminous garden