A man intertwined with time
and ellipsoidal on the lips
of hips of lenses
that steal the rushing winds
and children's
faces
big memory
in small places
he saves this
as the artifact of lost hope for
posterity
a man who saw beauty in vulgarity
of the mundane
ordinary
sadness of life
principle within
blight
wholeness
within light
fragmented
into the color of truth
in which
we develop
character
in our nation's
dark room
as even a rose in full bloom
and yes, the bell tolls for thee,
not whom
in his eyes
immortal souls on
ice
shine through
in that
slice
of what was and what is
omnipotent
dreams
dancing in a thousand snow globes
of
time
against a blue sky
tasting one fallen word
on the tongue
do not weep my people
for I have merely crossed the line
see me now in your own lens
take the past and use it
for this is the purpose of history
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