Oil Painting on linen finished oil paper. An expression of mystery and wonder. Thoughts noted below:

The Mystery of Form
In a Flux Field

Passion begs elusive definition in form.
Undulations bring respite in confidence.
Direction of a familiar path suspends
For a time in all that we do not know.
On nothing substantial we suspend belief.
Waves join in acceptance of possibility,
Before perception decorates with dust
Of familiar uniforms to dress a window.

In the red flecked firing furnace,
Gold is refined in dark coexistent.
Waves speak in sparks of earliest time
Just noted as apparent in a linear cloud.
Time is forgotten or misappropriated
When we are consistently late
Having missed the start date.

What clouds the form but the artificial mind
To see us follow the line that intersects
At crossroads that narrow and vanish.
Cluttered with ironic suitcases of the ephemeral,
We can watch the mind and sift the contents.
The dusty expanse is polished of
Clouded memories of unrecoverable depths.

The delicate maneuver to unpack the dark
From within the material suitcase
Requires the blind patience of a sensitive touch
Without pretense of legal observance
By chapter and verse.

Added May 6, 2019

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