"Poïesis is etymologically derived from the ancient Greek term ποιέω, which means "to make". This word, the root of our modern "poetry", was first a verb, an action that transforms and continues the world. Neither technical production nor creation in the romantic sense, poietic work reconciles thought with matter and time, and man with the world." (Wikipedia)
Echoes with Doors Closing
—after Jasper Johns’ Target With Plaster Casts, 1955
We miss targets, not people.
People we keep inside, appropriate,
love in small boxes, use molds
of Frank O'Hara's poems to explain
with loud words, alarm clocks,
times we’re reminded of being
alive. Concentric circles, remnants
of fallen things disappearing, as
clothes heap at ankles, or rocks land
in liquid. This marking is the secret
to all tattoos and hearts. We miss
the point, make impressions in ripple
after ripple of gestures, sayings,
and hear explanations from our own
slightly kissable lips, despite their size,
and know these sounds aren’t ours,
those voices as seismic, measurable,
announcements emitting sonar patterns
of kept rocks, mementos to people
we carry.
To miss love would be like missing
sunbeam onslaughts. Even when you
cannot see her you know the earth is
warm, our spinning turning backs face
reflective moons. All planetary circles
are sized and resized to measure
memories as firm as plaster, casts
of who we are and the beings
who shaped our souls this way.
Jasper Johns shut down doors
in eyelid contemplation, meditations
in romantic urgency. Museum docents
watch, wonder at their purpose, allow
us all to fear the repercussions when
we get a little closer
and try to raise, or pry.
