Art Is A Verb Moving Poem by Renee Marie

Everywhere, movement turns
to stillness and
moves again.
Art happens while you're
not looking -
shapes in paneling,
patterns on floors,
person-hole covers are street emblems,
nicks in bricks,
shifting stone walls,
wrinkled textiles hanging everywhere, eyes,
petals,
wings,
skin,
water,
snail trails,
saxophone, feathers,
dried marks on the chalk boards of yesterday and
these, all of these,
become us as we find them changing with the light
or the very present mood you're able to see with
your fleeting attention.

Accidental art is the inkblot of life; calling our attention -
so I capture but don't disturb
for this art,
like life,
is a verb moving free
for our random delighting.

© Reneé Marie
4.7.17 Draft 3