Wednesday, January 18, 2023

A poem …


For Linda

Gazing at the sky he wondered

If clouds were what they suggested

And only incidentally what they

Were made of. Ingredients of ink tell

Neither tale nor truth and one body’s much

The same as any other’s though nobody’s

Quite the same as anybody else.

What is real is the effect, not the cause,

The painting, not the pigment.

No comments:

Post a Comment