Shapes occasionally gaze
at one another with affection –
breaking through the circumspection
which describes how most of them
retain their measured stasis –
to sustain the treasured basis
of their curves or angles, swells
or swoops, cantilevered edges
or baroque entangled loops.
But two may snatch a glimpse
of one another on the sly, catch
each other’s eye, release a plaintive
longing sigh before they separate
to go again about their business
of supplying us with certainties
of volume and circumference – permit
the world to seem as if it’s making sense –
promote the myth of density and fixity
of form with all its rational detachment –
avoid the risk of passionate
attachment’s rash escapes.
It isn’t easy being shapes.