Touch

The Phoenix Light Sculpture

We both knew
It was our last time

Our very last sentence
our final good by

When it mattered the most
We didn’t say a word

And with so much to say
We just chose to forego

Instead we only held hands
in our own private world

What would it be
In the years to come

So much has changed
and so much has not

Could it possible be
That we never let go?

If touch is the first sense…
Maybe it shouldn’t be stopped.

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The Phoenix Light Sculpture (mahogany is alive)

It is said that sculptures, being spatial in nature, cannot restrain themselves to our mere observation.

Iconoclasts by nature, they will redefine our three-dimensional reality.

Infinite beings, there posses the ability of perpetual change in the incalculable angles and light patterns they don’t stop provoking.

That is all true and more, yet the experience of a sculpture is trunk without our fingertips running through them.

Could be sensual, could be intellectual and at most times it’s always spiritual; but I find only through touch our brain stops the relentless pursuit of understanding.

It is through touch that we bypass reason on behalf of pure emotion.