The sketches are of nothing more than a fading dream
A dream of motion and fluidity with a degree of symmetry
It could have been love calling
Love of mathematics; the logic of transposition or movement
Love of the circle; composite, complete and clear
Love of the rhythm; without a need for the word
The sketches are a gift, a presence
Given by return to and from the one who gave them
A peace offering to no one
No one other, than the no one of the self
Indeed it could have been love calling
Love of the lovers, the illogical lovers of love
Love of the fine and the dandy, love of the exquisitely vague
Love of low slung contemplations; love, floating in the air
