‘However great the movement of a sculpture may be….it must return to itself, the great circle must complete itself, the circle of solitude that encompasses a work of art.’
Rainer Maria Rilke Auguste Rodin.
A songbird’s silent flight through the storm,
or the siren call to an unknown island,
the curfew cry in fading light,
with spell cast and runes read,
a task for Janus
gathering his spirit
fashioned by a curious fate,
familiar to the curious
who stand in the summer rain
and see the snow before it falls.
A trail of enchantment,
a picture chosen from many
for its muted tones.
Who determines the music’s flow
through the fertile plains of the soul?
In every season there is something
to remember of another time.
When we feel spring’s incoming
who dares not breathe in life?
The answers are carved in stone.