“When the charioteer sees that face,
his memory is carried back.”
Phaedrus 254b
By driving ever closer to the divine
we go on growing a scrap of wings,
and within its reach and within sight,
something akin makes us die in fright.
And thus dead to the dead in love,
we learn how to stalk and track
signs of summons, striking steps,
training ears, schooling eyes.
For without the soul or love,
any art is but a hollow husk,
and the soul has something
of the sacred quiddity of art
which to be had must be tried,
used & coupled with one’s heart.
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