useless art

Craftsmanship would describe an ease with
the tools - the grace with which they glide
against rock, divine the softness of steel,
make wood as gentle as rot - and,
when finished, leaving a solemn product,
pleasant, useful, unobtrusive.
And yet, I find myself undertaking labors,
struggling against the tool’s natural paths,
the world’s constant motion, in order to
grasp a moment so elemental, so firm
and fierce, as to have its truth burned into
my hands like these finite roads that
navigate my palm. It is a struggle
against nature, to control these instincts,
to understand mysteries greater persons
have left mysterious.

And I discuss this pedantic path, all these
known answers, in the hope of learning
something new, discovering an element
so familiar that its true nature
has been forgotten; a shade of emotion
so subtle that no amount of practice
can turn it rote.

A simple warmth.

written August 3 - September 10, 1997