Archive
01/04/11 - (3)
Artists
This frigid ten a.m., seated under a tall gas heater, On the porch of the Surf & Sand's restaurant, Splashes, Gazing at the fast-breaking waves on the ever-fluctuating Pacific, You and I gently clasp hands, revel in this magic atmosphere, Marvel at our being here, so near to such energy.
Perhaps it's the bravado of the oceanic motion, Its bombastic crashes and entrancing, caesura-like silences, That cause us to talk about the nature of poetry and dance, The similarities between composition and choreography, How they depend on harmony's serendipity, rhythm's innuendos.
You hesitate, then, with a verbal pirouette, equate the arm, Which powers the hand and fingers that guide my pen, With the legs that keep the feet and toes neatly weaving the moves That lead the balletic body across the floor of your imagination, Shaping, from inchoate gossamer, approximations of perfection.
I see in your comparison, how your incremental steps are my words, Your movements my lines and stanzas, My symbols, images, and metaphors your suspensions in air, How our overriding goal is to emulate the ocean's immortal flowing, Reach closure, without ever really believing we've done so,
Rather hoping that our creativity will be an ever-progressing work, Just as our souls, in this time belonging solely to us, Will know only openings upon openings into newer universes, Compelling us, like the waves, shoreward, toward each other's love — Our ultimate dance, our consummate poem.
01/04/11 - (3)
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