sacramental imagination
they gave us time to read and make our notes
to contemplate the pictures we were shown
the fragments of the works of storied poets
the carriers of beauty, awe, renown.
the feathered thing confined within a cage
whom powers strive to silence still does yearn
with urge to sing, bursting in every age:
The spark of love can never fail to burn.
This much I know: art must beget more art
No listeners here; we all join in the song
Each joy in conversation takes its part
The awe of beauty draws us to belong.
When faced with beauty all that one can do
Is join, creating more, forever new.
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