Art is more real
than the life that creates it,
the dead hand of the sculptor
and the composer,
carving in music and stone
what mere moments
erased from the world;
the model for the painting's
tempting, flush figure -
dust and bones;
what made the poet dream
and write, less
than the headstone with her name;
art has the shimmering
blood of truth, purified
beyond the misery of existence
that marks each mortal,
doomed like no work
that escapes from the
human mind, ever is.
17.01.2021
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