Can only the human think abstractly?
We do not perceive things exactly
As they are, but as we want them to be,
And often render the senses free
Of a connection with the universe,
As if meaning’s impossibly perverse.
A bather steps in an inky river
Where no light shimmers and snakes slither.
These movements set like Toltec stone
Without muscle, sinew, skin, blood, or bone,
Exist nowhere but on canvas, gesso
(Not even in the artist’s mind, but mine
And those willing to look inside a sign),
With no relationship to what is so.