All art
Is struggle
To express
What cannot

All this
Is (un)real
Plus ce change, plus ce la meme chose
Yet every day anew

She is
Constant and vague
An ephemeral capture
Is to paint the air
With love

I am
The Poet. I am Art.
I am each day, in her.

I am the mist
I am not me
But the winds that play
In a thousand coves

I am the sigh of memory
The joy of desire.

The trepidation
Of love.

I am.


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