from Exile’s Re-Initiation

I. Painter, Maker, Musician

                     No poem is ever completed
                     No dance knows the perfect
                     Beat of his heart when the dancer’s feet are toeless and so
defeated
                     But we go on, we go on and act

                     We go on and act
                     Now that the circle is drawn

                     Now that the circle is drawn
                     You can see the dim outlines of dawn

                     You can see the dim outlines of lawns and a dawn
                     On the horizon of our faces
                     And each who follows will follow a line and trace
anew a new shape whatever the line he retraces.

                     Each who follows will follow,
                             will follow a line and trace anew,
                                       and trace anew a new shape–
                             whatever the line he retraces:

                     Mountain, or ocean, or fire, or the sky’s grey arc:
                             he will wield a palette of possible poems.