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Duane
Ackerson
“The
art that conceals itself”
This is the song the snow sings,
a song with the same
title, verse, and refrain
sung by a woman sitting in some corner
sewing a quilt
that only from a distance
appears to be a blanket
of no discernible design.
Then, as the sun rises,
a blue spruce casts a blue shadow on it.
Trivia
Perhaps those sea stones --
pebbles, glass polished smooth --
that the sea, coming in, flares into life,
then ebbs away, draining them of color
as they turn dry again.
Or those baseball statistics
fingered and handed back and forth
in sports bars or at coffee shop sidewalk tables;
it takes a keen eye for others to see the beauty in these.
I think, too, of the doll you mentioned,
kissed so often by its owner
that the features had blurred
or seeped somehow into the owner.
Whitman's child still goes forth each day
and everything he sees still becomes a part of him.
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