He started one day many moons ago
Fallen by the wind and taken from the Park

He sat and he withered
3 years of wood agony
The cruel weather of a midtown balcony and man’s neglect

He was reborn in a twist of fate
Uncovered from a 3-inch facade of rot

He emerged
In quiet convergence
With Cristo in the Park

Passing through orange blankets of monkish calm
Urban dancing
Temporary, forever, burned in memory
To the edge of knowing

Where mystery lay
Every step fresh
Bang bang of time
Clouds of mist
Wind, snow, sun
Blowing free

Into another world
Creatures climb in swift embracing unison

Mother and daughters
Father and sons
Brothers, sisters, children, friends, lovers, enemies all roll through gates

Floating on flags
Slung by slingshot

Into a place
Where the only thing we know is the grace of shape, light and form
A magic of the regular kind

Central Park Black Cherry

Found sometime someplace

Carved in harmony with the Gates

Winter 2005