A Gnome's Hoard? Poem by Denis Mair

(for a detail from a painting by Chaled Res, posted July 9th)
... ... ... ... ... ...
Where gold is harbored in the womb of earth...

traceries are gestated from the inner completion of ore...
a gnome watches them take shape from a position of invisibility...

he is drawn as if by magnetism to dilated moments of gracefulness...

his devotion acknowledges no other shrine,

he only wants to keep watch there...

but something else is drawn to the gold's equipoise...

capricious strokes allude to open spaces...

with no other point but to strike a counterpoint...

and question how the treasure can best be treasured?

Oh what can be done with the gnome's dogged loyalty?