There was feeling - this form wanted to come into being. I have not the skill. The arc insists. It exists. It wants body.
It had an edge, a silver edge along a bronze arc.
It may have been the silver sky and silver sea at Ocean Beach,
Or some abstract of the orbs that rivet my attention,
Planets, moons, that orange gray-scale wheel.
The dream state diffused from a hard-edged image that yet had softness,
the arcs rounded as if one side of pipes
or parabolic curves
The sky was transparent
blackness arced beneath the arcs
Art deco or 30's machine deco repetition,
Too perfectly curved, made with crayons and calipers -
What stylus drew, what black lead pencil stub
could be so huge -
The lever that could move a world?