And Agnes spoke.
After all she had seen
and failed to portray accurately
“It seems to me, I am a greater destroyer than creator.”
The inspiration more reverent in potential than intellect
She suffered it seems.
The quiet part
a-part
from the living with her art.
Agnes assembled some reason,
with color and line, like us, listening for the tone.
A message was delivered via postage stamp imagery,
she found this in the box with the red flag
too tiny to see.
So she was required to extrapolate
and re-scale
to make larger
than the letter
addressed to Resident.
Perfection, as though always made the same-
This one template mistranslated
in the corners.
The migration from idea to ideal,
lost in most blending, space, silence, room, makes too much
semblance, geometrically so much more than medium.
All that
depends upon a nail, a red wheelbarrow and leaf capacity and
a multiplicity of task or cause.
Yes, Agnes knew her arithmetic.
And Agnes tried to forget rules, axioms, theorems
and the half charged radii she never saw as encompassing.
Less can be greater than
too much inspiration.
Agnes said the envelope was empty
but she received the message.
I know, I sent it.
