Paul had written this with his previous post of this image:
How do we choose to remember
and give substance to
the moulds that shape our lives?
As pictures on a page
tone, form, line and texture
melting to solidify a receding past
fading in Doppler’s redness.
As words on a page
marked by punctuating hieroglyphs
sliding their sensuous curves
into and between our mingling thoughts.
As solid mass of clay or stone
standing mute but talking
with outstretched hand or twisted mouth
to our improbably perfect recollections.
Through all of these and more I think
a complete blending of our sensibilities
creating a formless world within
hidden, secretive and so personal
entered into as through an open gate
which brooks no key to bar it shut
Comments
How do we choose to remember
and give substance to
the moulds that shape our lives?
As pictures on a page
tone, form, line and texture
melting to solidify a receding past
fading in Doppler’s redness.
As words on a page
marked by punctuating hieroglyphs
sliding their sensuous curves
into and between our mingling thoughts.
As solid mass of clay or stone
standing mute but talking
with outstretched hand or twisted mouth
to our improbably perfect recollections.
Through all of these and more I think
a complete blending of our sensibilities
creating a formless world within
hidden, secretive and so personal
entered into as through an open gate
which brooks no key to bar it shut