Ars Poetica: Chaos Theory

---

                                                                                                    First published by The Crab Orchard Review

The loft is an atelier. Easels hold 

paintings of surreal landscapes and 

variegated mindscapes. Half-chiseled 

sculptures shapeshift as light and shadows 

brush their curves, leaving me transfixed.      

What do you see? He asks, 

perched on a table behind me. 

Startled, I spin as his emerald eyes 

sever my consciousness from speech. 

Unruly curls a veil, he holds my gaze 

and we meld into metal not yet set. 

Our edges blur as he reaches for my hand.  

The sculptures take on my textures, 

a collarbone, a neckline, the curvature 

of my hipline, my fingers on 

my cello’s bow. His vision is so vivid 

I morph into forms he carves. Or maybe 

he molds contours I compose as 

his turbulence pulses through me.