The Artist

It’s true, they say, she grew right from the ground
sprung up like an exotic plant and stayed
despite the desert, building her own mound
until it rose above all she had made.
So high, she watched the life that moved below
played being angel, the sun at her back
and marveled at this thought: how lovely — to grow!
(she never stopped to think of what she lacked.)
It’s true, they say, the roots ran from her heart
defied gravity and wound to the sky
her castles in the air — fortified art
were lined by vines that would refuse to die.
The artist’s secret is simple: to live
not asking what to take, but what to give.




Photography courtesy Acton Wright.


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