Maybe ‘Art’ is just arms I’ll find rest in

Sometimes I feel as if ‘Art’

is the arms I one day will get to rest in

That it is not creative deeds nor complicated actions

that set both hearts and souls astir

Maybe ‘Art’ is just that

Arms I long to one day find rest in

exhale and close my eyes to chests

ever firm

Maybe that is just ‘Art’

and not the galleries

and not the enthralling voices

not tunes of jazz

that send whole beings to swinging

and not the dreaming heart of a poet

and not the discipline of the craftsman

Maybe it is arms I’ll find rest in

and chests I’ll lean into

after I’ve lost everything

and even when I’ve gained more than I need

‘Art’ might be those arms that’ll be there?


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