Beyond the Holy Ghost
by Gary Sackett
Photo by Gary Sackett
Clay sculpture molded in the night,
being perfect was not its goal.
To be the one to know its maker.
The canvas was blank, but a THOUGHT, now hangs in someones loft.
Note flat, then sharp, pencil to paper, playing a symphony.
Framed by the fingers, then the lens, burned, etched on film.
Slab cold and distant, knocked around, gleaming pride, chiseled.
Toes bend, backs too, music to the muscles, to where it goes.
Thinking, ink on page, words exquisite, unique, alive.
Angels high and low, magic human chord.
One of many gifts and talents abound, if we allow.
so deep, inside and out.
looked for, always found.
harder to show.
Personal, one on one,
only the pulse, the vein, the artery, the one,