It's this holy matter we produce
That gives rise to time and space
As if the earth were the first drop
Of paint to be placed
On a newly-stretched canvas
Of a woman holding a child
The drop that might become the eye
Of an angel crouching in the corner
Or part of her blue mantle
Always falling short of what
The artist had in mind
For his dark surface
Another masterpiece
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment