Tate Gaia Poem by Richard George
Tate Gaia
Rating: ★5.0
That spider knows nothing
of the geometry, Euclid-
intricate, it gossamers.
Spectrum-dewdrops wink goodbye,
colour-blind.
The tide breathes its mantra.
It has never heard it.
Pebbles sleep in bliss
to their sculpture by my thumb-whorl,
Henry Moore, before a hand existed.
On into neolithic evening
I comb the sea.
Monday, May 30, 2005
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5/13/2024 11:08:47 AM # 1.0.0.1119
