What do you see,and how do you see it?
What childhood memories
color your perceptions;
what artistic sensibilities
make this pleasing
-- or hopelessly busy --
to your eyes?
Do you see weeds
needing to be mown down,
or waving fields
beneath a blue and cloudless sky,
or food for cows and sheep,
or feathers to tickle a sleeping friend,
or just the sharp edges,
the scrape of a million tiny blades
dividing us into you and me
wrong and right
then and now
togetherness,
and... gone. Just... gone.
* * *
1 comment:
I see color. I see texture. I imagine what can be made of the sheaves. I see how not one of these is exactly alike. I "get" the metaphor these stand in for. I imagine what might be behind, including nothing at all.
The art is in the seeing, even when what is seen is not there.
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