He gave his nom de plume to a syndrome
that speeds the heart and makes consciousness faint
in the presence of preserved pronouncements,
skillfully and visually presented,
conveying significance or beauty.
Art is a three-letter word, and, like God,
sublime for the most part. Look in its face,
and you‘ll see beyond brushstrokes in pigment,
through dark, behind light, past surface to thought
merging with creation’s wry illusion.
The eternal speaks deafeningly to
it’s souls, within such vivid silences.