Rodin began with copper and tin, with phosphorus and aluminum added in
to render the bronze in his furnace. He stoked the fire to a rage
not the idle luxury of normal men, spelling danger. Thoroughly brooding
today, he made a wax cast of a person thinking.
It received the fire water like a drunk thirsty for redemption.
Just one drink, I’ll prove it to myself today. The bronze cracked the mold
as it cooled and expanded furrows of the minding man, the cast of his knuckles
bare fists readied for buffeting the next ill guest bringing láthspell and omens.
There’s an empty lake trumpeting the songs of the swans. I want you to color
this sketch with your full imagination to fill the reeds by the side of the water,
have you? See them fully and coax shadow to lend dimension, but only in ink!
There’s no art to be had in pencil–uninterrupted brush strokes instead.
In Japanese calligraphy there is no rumination because one might tear the paper
with deliberation. Bashō worked his haiku with a pen.