Later, Something Becomes…

Lit by the light thrown onto it,

a partial image – the thing itself becomes

a reference to something seen before.

Stone-quiet, the thing itself

pressed like a flower, becomes forty words 

I draft slow enough, but only just

to interpret something inanimately projected,

saturated with a longing to retrieve its zest, its spirit

though its fragile construction sits motionless becoming

but a spare moment I want to recreate – to make luminous

its flatness in its passing, passing through utter abstraction, 
linked to the indefinite duration of a briefness progressing –

upping its effect, an unnatural light in the room cast upon its face,
and now to poeticize it – it itself without any soul, forty words
having somewhere to go, each becoming a part of something.

. . . . .

a winged thing bulks in the dark / painted in stillness / regal its bearing / needing 
nothing / the act of inscription / in this public space / austere walls / granting excess 
access / filtering through the light / less and less / a part of something splayed