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Albert sits beneath his self-portrait...
the physical resemblance is uncanny,
the tufts of hair springing slightly off center...
the flattened nose, monkish jowls...
thin lips and lively ears...
the young monkey that he was
mirrored by the old ape that he is...
But the spirit is no longer the same...
gone is the self-confidence
and boyish charm...
the self righteous intellect
and impish humor that served him well.
They say the cadence
of a pack of dogs
can bring down a bridge...
but can a bridge bring down a man?
Dedalus had crossed that bridge
to self awareness,
but Albert had only made it half way
before succumbing to the lure of the water.
True Art is disparate,
and consequently
True Artists...
but not Albert...he had never been able
to single himself out from
the people around him...
always craving their company
and seeking their approval...
and making them laugh...
God how he loved to laugh.
His first college love...
high on wine and lying
on a blanket under the stars...
this was it, the one and only,
laughter, love, and sexual bliss...
when they parted that summer
with talk of marriage...
who could have faulted him
for not knowing they would
never see each other again...
the theme repeats many times
down through the years
until the light dies from his eyes
and the laughter leaves his lips.
Ahhhh....St. Albertus Magnus,
framed forever by the portrait
within a portrait...lost in words
that make no sense to anyone
but him and him alone.
Still alone.
Always...Alone.
Coach Roth
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