Shapes by Ruth Stone
In the longer view it doesn’t matter.
However, it’s that having lived, it matters.
So that every death breaks you apart.
You find yourself weeping at the door
of your own kitchen, overwhelmed
by loss. And you find yourself weeping
as you pass the homeless person
head in hands resigned on a cement
step, the wire basket on wheels right there.
Like stopped film, or a line of Vallejo,
or a sketch of the mechanics of a wing
by Leonardo. All pauses in space,
a violent compression of meaning
in an instant within the meaningless.
Even staring into the dim shapes
at the farthest edge; accepting that blur. Art by Kiriko Nananan
Recommended listening: Call It Dreaming - Iron and Wine Cry, Cry, Cry - Mazzy Star
Links of the Day: The Creature Garden A Neural Network Generates Surprisingly Elegant Images of Dinosaurs Composed of Plants Bizarre Black Holes Revealed by New Space-Time Ripples