Group IV, The Ten Largest, No. 7, Adulthood (Hilma af Klint), Sonnet #452

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My Human Disguise.

Behind closed eyes, what’s written I redact —

Such is not just an idea but an act.

I don’t mean dreams, nor the imagined fact,

Like the nautilus, a chambered prison

Of the real, the unreal, and the abstract.

All I see is suspect and misprision.

Then bloom the perfect flowers of the now,

The dance of the ideal shapes, the entr’acte

Between times (those blind-eyed scenes of the show).

Now doesn’t admit even one and three,

Only two, which becomes nonentity

And leaves a shape we only think we see.

It’s all we know, not all we need to know.