it's like painting a cloud for the blind man who has never seen it before, or trying to describe a three-dimensional figure to someone trying to make out your words past all the static of the mingling soundwaves, "so is the trapezoid in front of the cube?" "no, no, the side of the trapezoid is tangent with the bottom of the cube." "which side of the trapezoid?", they will say, "the left side," you'll answer, irritated. "well, what's left? how's the trapezoid drawn? how big is it? where is it in realtionship to the canvas? how large is the canvas?"
and even though you do no expect the outcome to be a joan miro, though the blind man could never fully appreciate the cloud, could still a silver lining be drawn between the lines on a widow's forehead, across the protruding ribs of a malnutritioned orphan, underneath the facade of an aching heart?
(c) 2006 mai kozai
silence is also music. {11:10 PM}
the poet
mai sharona.
december 5, 1984.
davis, california.
a sucker for flowers.
