The Thinker


He sits there like a blueprint of a bird
Or maybe the bumble of a bee
Wearing a pair of dark wrap arounds
To cover his eyes so we cannot see
On what things the gazes fix
As he turns his head side to side.

It could be the way he leans forward
From his chair into the air
That sculpts a certain shape
Suggesting a potential for flight
With the mouth open, slightly gaped,
But not moving except to breathe.

At a certain moment
He makes a fist with his right hand
Placing it under his chin.
The mouth closes, the head bows,
The the spotlight evolves
The shadow into an outline of a man.



Bevagna, 15 5 2012