Michelangelo

Where if not in the mind
           does beauty lie ?
Who sees the puckered rose
           who sees the pursed pout
of her lips primed for a kiss ?
           And so the white swan drifts
through my consciousness
           where the sun rises and sets
and the river never runs dry
           Who sees and yet fails to see
the truth of the beauty of life ?
           Out of the subtle stone
of Carrara the artist draws
           the beauty of his soul
sets it in the palpitating
           folds of his imagination

John Lyons