for poets it is generous, the artist
steps away from the inspiration
but leaves something there
for the poet to find in moments
of quiet, by looking.
And later, the poet steps away
in generosity to the reader, so she
can find something of the inspiration
in her attempt to understand
the words, by feeling.
Art like God, is not right or wrong,
but indefinable in language,
requiring itself to become emotion
To enter us like sun on the skin
in immeasureable ways.
The more I study the more I realize how fleeting is a muse, how artists have to move from one thing to the next and cannot live within any moment longer than the moment lives. It is a tragedy the ability to create a world in a world in a world. Because one is always hunting for the core but all the life is in the layers.
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