to say no more of art than that it makes, by its very distraction
              a mode of abiding



accordingly, its variations:     each type of thread-and-piecework
              named double engagement ring, log cabin, or broken dishes
all built on the same geometric figures—
                           precise interception of angle and line



so too each tale of love is rooted in that first tale:   the poet
            descending to the underworld
                          finally granted his shade, who’ll follow him
only to disappear again.    perhaps one version has them reunite
              affixed in their solo chromospheres the stars, which,
to the human eye, appear to overlap



substanceless love
                             immune at last to gravity and time—



in texas (I might as well recount this as a story) there’s a town
                with a courthouse built on concrete and twisted iron
edified in red granite, capitals & architrave of red sandstone

with point and punch, a carver broached the effigy of his muse
              he rendered her attractive features, down to the very blush

                             of course she spurned him,
           of course there was another to whom she turned
love should not be written in stone but written in water
                            (I paraphrase the latin of catullus)


the sculptor carried on:    not just the face of his beloved
              but the face of her other lover:
                           snaggle-toothed, wart-peppered, pudgy
them both, made into ugly caricatures of themselves, as wanton
             as the carver perceived them, and as lewd



               well, craze and degenerate and crack:   the portraits hold
though, long since, the participants have dwindled into dirt

             beautiful.    unbeautiful.     each with an aspect of exactness



tread light upon this pedestal.     dream instead of a time before
              your love disfigured, a time
                           withstanding even crass, wind-beaten time itself