1.

There is a rock
that straddles order and schock--
that floats the film,
ever so ethereal,
between form and free.

I stretch my hands,
they are strong and good.

There is only art 'twitx me
and my soul.

2.

We meet as the shadows of the heart,

caught and froze on white sheaves with black ink.
We see through a novel darkly--
cary the scaffold of form before our eyes--
impose line on cycle.

We meet as shadows of the heart
and stay such, 'till the puppeteer deem fit.

3.

I am between things.

Stood as a stalk between wind and water--
a smothered dress between lovers.

I am between this and that,
will become either when I move--
when I step, or I fall, into the concrete storm,
motionless in fury--
furious in silence.

The ringing in my ears is no song.