DA VINCI'S GHOST
( for my little brother Brian )
I listen to
classical guitar in the dark
with only a single
candle for company.
These my teenage years.
Music and flame
travel through my mind
unveiling thought.
Da Vinci's
Vitruvian man
pinned to the wall
with most pins missing.
He comes alive
in the candle's flicker.
Gets into a flap
each time the door opens.
Little brother is spooked
by that Vitruvian stare
but is fascinated by the fact
that he exists
within a circle
within a square.
Like a priest I
dress my self in the garb
of Leonardo's words.
"Write what the soul is.
Illustrate whence comes....madness.
Whence...tears.
Whence...dreams!"
The whences make him wince.
As he sees it: "...it is like a man
travelling through time
in his dream machine
and arriving at his own
dying
becoming his own
ghost."
Our mother's voice
calls him
and he is grateful to escape
his own thought.
***
Now, here I am
at your death
as you step inside
the circle
(inside the square).
You stare back at me
with that Vitruvian stare
and I " try to write
what the soul is."
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
DA VINCI'S GHOST
( for my little brother Brian )
I listen to
classical guitar in the dark
with only a single
candle for company.
These my teenage years.
Music and flame
travel through my mind
unveiling thought.
Da Vinci's
Vitruvian man
pinned to the wall
with most pins missing.
He comes alive
in the candle's flicker.
Gets into a flap
each time the door opens.
Little brother is spooked
by that Vitruvian stare
but is fascinated by the fact
that he exists
within a circle
within a square.
Like a priest I
dress my self in the garb
of Leonardo's words.
"Write what the soul is.
Illustrate whence comes....madness.
Whence...tears.
Whence...dreams!"
The whences make him wince.
As he sees it: "...it is like a man
travelling through time
in his dream machine
and arriving at his own
dying
becoming his own
ghost."
Our mother's voice
calls him
and he is grateful to escape
his own thought.
***
Now, here I am
at your death
as you step inside
the circle
(inside the square).
You stare back at me
with that Vitruvian stare
and I " try to write
what the soul is."
