Wednesday, April 20, 2011


He was a young god
So he worked with furious abandon
Strewing his precious suns around
In largely useless galaxies

Grandiose in his use of mountains, water, sky,
But not merely bombastic
For the detail of the microscopic was ingenious
Beyond the imagination of his predecessors
And the uses, particularly of form and colour...

But he wasn't sure
Not quite sure, even when he had finished,
Especially then,

That he had solved such questions as
The relation of stability to change...

Cycles of birth and death were a masterpiece
But they weren't, not quite...

Yet, oh, the thing was beautiful
Turning and glittering and many-coloured
Infinite in all directions in space and time
And yet completely self-complete...

But he wasn't sure

So, as a sort of flourish to his signature
An underline for curtain
He made an animal in his own image
Except of course, for the dimensions lost
Transferring from eternity to time
Gave it the last perception of his mind
The sense of incompleteness
The gap between the intended and the done
The utter sadness of magnificence not quite

He gave it that
And asked of it perfection
~Evan Jones

No comments: