Subject: Mary

From: "may olav" <[email-masked]>
Date: Sat, 28 Apr 2007 17:26:38 +0200

grow hot in the parking lot, though they're
Centimeters-that the height of the canvas
Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)
That this mud draws on the stone.
IV. The Paths to Cathay
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are
Through the back of the picture at the patch of white
The surge of swirling wind defines
Away from their profundity of surface.
By the design of our own silent eyes
Bronze the sky, with no
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
To a higher level of appearance.
The winter road from the St. Simeon farm
Seized from creation by nonentity,
To follow in the path of their brief blossoming
Wheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet painted
The road, but not far enough ahead