Life has been compared to –
and in microcosm captured in
– tapestry, mosaic, even carpets
(inert, magic and Barkeresque weave).
It has been seen – rightly or wrongly –
in tea leaves, balls of crystal,
picture cards, bones,
and plain old-fashioned dreams.
It has been described by
every age of hominid –
in cave paintings, minstrels’ tales,
symphonies and odes,
in rap, in sonnet, in sculpture and –
however obscurely, and against the protestations of the artist –
in drizzle paintings that speak clearer to me than nachtmusik or mariner’s rimes ever could.
But behind the images and the melodies
lie the words, the words behind
imagery and thought,
the words behind the words –
the words of our souls.
Words are all I have.
This is how I capture life.