And he thought about building
Crafting
Making things
Merging the useful with the useless
To some
For there are beings in this world
Who care nothing for beauty
There are beings in this world
Who care nothing for art
So he would build the functional
And make it sing for the tone deaf
For the colorless he’d make
Things bloom in usefulness
But then he thought
Why work so hard
For them?
For the beings who pass it all by
As if it’s just an obstacle in their way?
Why destroy himself for their sake?
He wondered
But he remembered her and that walk
Along the strand and the found things
The found-art things that sang to them both
Like some lost child or lost friend
They thought they’d never see again
In this world
In this battered old world of obstacles to shatter
And eclipse
—by Douglas Pinson