What Joins Separates and What Separates Strains to Find What Has Been Lost

 

Each line and every touch
Adds another shade.
That is what a painter does,
And women too
Draw upon the selfsame art.

Yet each also adds
A little death—
The one that cleaves
And separates
What once was joined

In the endless play
Of bringing forth
A view,
A newly rising path,

While all the rest
Recedes from sight,
As though the world itself
Were one vast cosmic
Leela dance—

That strangely common wonder
Of ever-washing,
Ever-veiling waves,
Where nothing leaves
The unfolding stage.