Monday, October 24, 2011

There’s No Pain In The Sky

The first four letters of the word “paint” are the word “pain.”

I have expensive watercolor paints, and fun paints,
but whenever I take out a watercolor set
all I can think is that a watercolor painting
isn’t a puppet—it doesn’t move, it doesn’t sing.

There’s a dim comet, hard to see, in the western sky
and in the east there are bright, easy to see clusters,
both beautiful, the Pleiades and the Hyades.

They sky moves but it doesn’t sing and there’s no pain there.

There’s no pain in the sky but there is endless beauty.

It’s different down on the ground than up in the sky.

Down here there’s something hard to see like a dim comet
and there are things that get in the way like clouds at night.

Lost in the metonymy of puppets and painting
and songs moving, somehow, something like from east to west,
is this real, too, down here, this working, craft, quest to find
the illusion of pain, the grace of endless beauty?

No comments: