She’s the Art

She’s a study.
A truncated,
Curving,
Elusive
Prometheus
With the moment,
this very one,
As her rock.
She’s a tangent, if you will.

She
extends
Over the planes;
A circle within a circle,
Submerging
The curling,
straining ends
Of the magnetized tracks.
She’s a limit, if you will.

She
Pulls a weight,
one with a shape,
Down
With a symmetrical force
On an uncoordinated world.
A flat, common prison.
Such silence,
Such nothing as we can only approximate
Is whole.
She’s an angle, if you will.

She
Tends
Towards infinity.
Shuttling,
Tantalizing,
Terrorizing
Effervescence.
She’s nearly there.
A tangent
Come
Almost full circle.
She’s similar, if you will.

She’s
out of view.
A silhouette
Out of the corner of one’s eye
A earring,
Shadows make startling distortions.
She will not correspond.
She’s adjacent, if you will.

***