For Nicholas Samaras whose red eggs were part of my Easter
The inverted impulse of his hands shaped the small gray square into a dove
Questioning pain's power to paralyze
Imprisoning darkness in its wrinkles
Twittering, it spread its message 'round
Gathering a group of merry friends
Wondering if that was its purpose all along
The secret intention of the art that flies up out of us and loves
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