is a painting you return to every day;
to add another stroke, to follow another line;
to make it real by the way
you consider; to make me yours, to make you
... is a sculpture peeled from the nothingness,
marble, clay; here a fingerprint, here a swirl.
Here—(I need your eyes to look at this—)
a questionmark; what is it now? A girl?
A dream, a weight? A body watched and pressed
into life? You watch and press, breathe
me back—sometimes barely touched, sometimes
Carefully circling, you gradually unsheath
(it, her, me). For all this labor, love, in the
will be the prize; love of an art, love of a
The Laws of Falling Bodies, Story Line Press, ©
co-winner of the 1997 Nicholas Roerich Prize. Reprinted by
permission of the author.