EXCAVATED LIGHT

The surface gives back tension.
Along the arm and into the spine,
the painter’s body stiffens
as the pressure of his eye
moves across the frame.
A scraping is a leaving. Nothing’s accidental,
even coruscation.
Heart-shaped arc
of breath’s intention
as the hand like a voice
deepens then lifts.
We are forgiven our knowledge
of the plan, trial and cessation
like a sunlit field, ribbons at the fair.
A face’s first surface :
excavated light :
the ardor of the stripping.
I myself have seen the vertical
patient writing of reed and stalk,
authored marks on surface nature.
Yet the mind’s
patient signal is never quite at rest.
Turning of hands, turning of snow.
The voices of that town.
After all the figures,
archeology of intention
beneath thirty pressings.
Speeding green and subtle ideation.
Blurrings of a world.
The tool is chosen
for the smoothness of its mark
on feathered metal.
The edges are prepared
and final at this hour.
The eye presses deeper.
The leaving shines.