Curves

They captivate me—

or is it that they conjure me?

The ancient game of curves—

meeting and dissolving,

as if curves

could ever contain a farewell.

Curves departing and returning,

from north and south,

from east and west,

recognizing each other without words:

reflections and resonances,

opposites mirroring each other,

contraries embracing,

as if the heart were not made of ash.

The chiaroscuro dance

of the unseen puppeteer,

drawn in the swell

of vastness.

Desert sands

sculpted by an artist

as elusive as the wind,

revealed only in the artifact

of her gesture,

changing like skin.

the trembling skin of the sea,

roughness of stone,

fragile smoothness of cream,

the curve of a horse’s back—

every skin is alive,

feeling,

in motion,

blown

in the breath of origin.

The play of two,

the primordial pair

offering us

the holy rites

of the dance

and dialogue.

—Lorena Wolfman (2025, translation 2025)