The Perception of Beauty


The sweltering mind is overcome by sights.
It is bothered by the sweat,
On a humid day,
Through which the sun seeps the power.

In front it sees form in its purity
And in its fecundity
And the unobserved circle games
By which we seem to do what we do.

Some games need abstraction and guile.
Others use sticks and some spill blood.
The players turn the arms over and around,
Lurching like angels dancing in the dark.

It was a moonlit evening.
I was driving home,
Listening to the radio,
To the sound of a familiar voice.

Keep moving on as if you were not.
You love and you hate with speech
But may you never lay your head down,
Without a hand to hold.

Those are someone else's words!
May You Never!
Sung in a mysterious key,
Way down the neck with a Capo.

The sights go on and on
Everyday and from the letters,
Arise in images, the true lurid details
Through which the sun shower season happens.

Bevagna, 4 March 2019