Compass Our Awe
Updated: May 19
Why do we share our art but for the company of like minds through words that compass our awe,
unlock human glimpses, calloused with grief and hope to draw truths from the bright of good,
balm sad tides in unexpected notes and idiosyncratic lines around your eye and mouth,
training sight for unseen beauty in things guttered.
Your hand, the waves — Language both releases, delays
a destiny of possibility from the same fading picture or mortal danger of limits made in fatal hoarding, a waste.
What good is a music box locked on yesterday’s shelf anachronistic and owned music trapped within a soul without a soul?
What good a language hidden to entropy in book unexamined when language is all we have to create now?
The endless word, the note, unfelt surfaces of marble and brushstroke, Art is the telegram from yearning and estrangement
to share music of the spheres and unite it with ears to spite erudition of time-capsule gallery dimensions.
The artist with magpie ideas vacates beauteous monsters in untidy ways, disrobing death inside,
moves us unrestrained to futures of rich feeling alive and Grasping the ache to converse this, the divine Spirit we make.
Jessica Lee McMillan © 2021