Glimmering

Art as composed may be voice,

Point of view, merely ego,

Wholly worship, the effort

To preserve as immortal

Some person, belief, idea,

Outside of the art itself,

But art as inherited

Is beauty saving itself,

Whether or not l’art pour l’art

Existed as a concept

At the time the art was made.

If it doesn’t feel both strange

And gorgeously, obliquely

True to future receivers,

Then, even if it survives

Physically, it’s not art,

Only archaeology.

Not such a bad thing to be,

After all, an extension

Linking ancient to recent

Worlds of cultural remains,

But art’s a little different.

Something wriggles within it

That gleams in new human brains.