Wednesday, December 25, 2013
A crystal pyramid, faceted creation
Of pressure, heat and imagination,
Frozen purity, a trap for light with five sides,
Where reflection upon infinity resides.
In total darkness it sleeps in oblivion,
But a single candle ignites a refraction,
Carving light into color in serrated planes,
Only as rigid as the stillness of the flame.
But a camera flash, like a blast of insight,
Will bury color at its heart and leave a blight
Of vacant lines as each facet locks to the next,
Like pages in a closed book obliterate text.
Let the sun burst it red, orange, yellow and blue,
Then open your eyes, take your time, and think things through.
Two Men Contemplating the Moon (Caspar David Friedrich)
We can see the moon, but not its eclipse.
We drink the coldest stars with little sips;
Venus, a tear on the horizon's cheek;
Mars bleeds; the Dipper, wan and weak,
Contains an empty trapezoid.
The Milky Way flows nowhere from the void.
This night, we want nothing to learn.
Our regrets leak from a cracked urn
Of lust and yearning we fling at the stars.
Shattered, it forms constellations of scars.
The lunar eclipse, the earth's one moment
Of triumph over the universe's intent --
We grow no brighter by dimming the sun.
We leave chastened. There's so much to be done.