No. 143. The Rising Sun Sculpture. He filled his studio with what he regarded as astral clutter. The only still point in the heap of construction was an over-arching plywood sun. He labeled it with a poem, taken from a suite he had written last year called Voyages to the Moon.

A Rind of Light

a dish of island
sweetly circular
three hundred yards thick

turns the tables


a mountain
tectonic of labour
swings ever nearer

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