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Tuesday, 14 April 2009



It is only mourning
For the mind's
Lost moment
That has
Like an echo of time
In these rustlings from the past
A touch of fabric
Of metal
Or of wood
A presence
The living moment
Continues to miss

The power of time
Imposes itself
In the materiality
Of the objects
And textures

This infinitely specific
World which
Will begin to decay
The moment
We look away

File:The Ambassadors, detail of globe, lute, and books, by Hans Holbein the Younger.jpg of Death, by Hans Holbein the Younger.jpg

The Ambassadors (details): Hans Holbein, 1533 (National Gallery, London)