Whittle me down
To pure-I-ty
Where all of thee
Is all you see
And in our nakedness
We sing what is means
To be children
Of the Car(v)er
Who, even as we bleed
Makes music
With swiftest certainty:
Mosaics from shavings
Left over after Truth...
Nothing is wasted!
Our woundings, the proof
That Life and Light Exist,
For in the Artist's eyes
Perfection is just a cut away
And beauty is movement
Set free only to obey
The rule of Love.
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