August 19, 1998 (I was 53)
When as a child I first learned
three dimensional
perspective
on a two dimensional
surface
by drawing partially
overlapping squares
then joining like corners
to show three surfaces of a
transparent cube
I was impressed
by my new grasp upon
reality
My wordless hope
that all the secrets of
artistry
would reveal themselves
by similar manipulative
trickeries
fit so conveniently into
that hollow box
that never became a brick
nor book upon a shelf
It has been the magician’s
box
Things put into it
disappear
though you can see right
through
It is an icon
for the boxes of misery and
treasure in legend
or the cast of the cosmic
die
in a child’s understanding
of things.
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