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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