Still life
The frozen white lines
Silence cutting against
The erosion of what
–we-
Perceive to be life –
still
Motionless uninhibited
There placed we have chosen
The white drowns against
The mental gold leaf and
oil
Spread across the forming
Creation in the mind’s eye
From the blind hand
To like the marriage procreate
A mystery of the
discovery
Held with what might call a
frame
Or gallery – detached from our world
Yet rooted firmly in yours
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