The interpretation of art,
like a rebirth of thought.
Each new piece regenerates
all that came before it.
It venerates the ancestor
of no definitive answer,
instead coloring and giving birth
to an infinite texture.
Contours you’ll resume
by tracing this womb throughout.
It begins by lightly brushing the surface,
as graceful as a lizard’s limbs
over the coarse skin of tree bark.
The canvass stretched taut,
silent and thin as a moth’s wings
deafening when you’re listening
to a certain frequency of rain,
it resonates like a train of thought,
seismic as a teardrop in a pool,
radiating in myriad directions.
Each stroke is an impression,
passing over the surface like an apparition,
tuned into the unseen,
its lingering reception recalling
all those things that stay with you.
Each step is an embryo
for new material to come through
no longer dormant
but with a slow flow
as if emerging from a volcano,
the vaporous past absorbed into the current,
transformed from within,
to be reborn as new land
calling into question
as you perceive from the edge
“What is ever fully completed?”