How much do we think ahead
to the light change, the word choice
to describe clouds swimming across sky
to become ground shadows
flying beneath our steps as we walk
or emerge from brush into painting?
Is the image developed play
or a dance that transcends creator and others,
blending minds, perception, spontaneous intuition
and intent, like a forming child,
a surprise of sperm/egg melding,
of DNA shaping each being’s swirl of creation?
Do artists think through to the “right” outcome,
with purposeful stroke, foresee the essence
of finished feeling, or gasp with heart throb
when the work, locked into present time,
is no longer a wish, a pulsing of groin?
Perhaps all is within flow—
after a mysterious change, a magical shift
of time and perspective,
a tiny movement or decision
of light, color, shape, touch, word
that the profane turns,
quickens
to become sacred,
and the piece speaks for itself.
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