By G.M. Plaster
May 12, 2012
To collect and cultivate the best of beauty’s gifts
Is the calling of the Curator
To truncate, critique or amplify
Link, like, and echo in virtual caves
Through windows… In cafes
They are the beacons of light
In the dark void, and abandoned terminals
Of human experience
For each life is, on its face
Inside the case
And we curate that which hearkens
To that outside the fishbowl
For we can sense beyond what we can reach
And see through water and curved glass
The undiscovered country
And we curate that which hearkens
To that which draws us near
To the thing we love and fear
We curate to know the Joy
From which all beauty shines
To make that Joy complete
May 12, 2012
To collect and cultivate the best of beauty’s gifts
Is the calling of the Curator
To truncate, critique or amplify
Link, like, and echo in virtual caves
Through windows… In cafes
They are the beacons of light
In the dark void, and abandoned terminals
Of human experience
For each life is, on its face
Inside the case
And we curate that which hearkens
To that outside the fishbowl
For we can sense beyond what we can reach
And see through water and curved glass
The undiscovered country
And we curate that which hearkens
To that which draws us near
To the thing we love and fear
We curate to know the Joy
From which all beauty shines
To make that Joy complete
