Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

L’année (after Roberto Matta Echaurren, oil on canvas, 1944)

by Neil Ellman

Shapes turn into clouds
Then decompose
To shapeless ironies.

Breadthless lines appear
Then disappear
At countless, sudden points.

Something inevitable
Inexplicably occurs
Before it shifts to red.


He said he knew the source
Where squares are born
Where circles spread
And multiply as if
A stone were dropped
Into a lake of stars
Where life is formed
From dying flames.


The wind becomes a face
With ancient eyes
That cannot see the light.

Metaphors dissolve
Becoming stone
Before they turn to dust.

Nothing is what it seems
And every thought
Is just a guess.


He said he knew
How everything would end—
And then it did.

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