Persimmons are like words.
They come when the season is ready.
THIS YEAR NEARLY EXTINGUISHED
Winter Solstice, 2012
Light crackles dark, dark gathers
whispers at the rim.
Season assumes perfect
shape. Pomegranates/persimmons persist
in cerulean bowl among the unseen, calm.
Palpable.
Why now does she recall Grandmother saying,
“More circles than boxes in this world, child.”
Striking a match
what does she now know?
Light/dark inseparable,
one actress plays all roles.
Certainly the ripe curves.
Perhaps, new pages to be turned.
Notes for Concentricity paintings
ReplyDeleteAll eternity wobbly--
Circles fabricate a chasm
through which panic and the profane
must pass-- a cleansing, a funny dizzy sound