There is beauty, and there is work.
Of course, pulcra is its own territory:
Isn’t beauty its only excuse for being?
When created, it has its boundaries
defined as edges of petals or blades
of leaves, twigs of branches, birdsongs.
And work? Work is the homely sibling.
Pulcra et utile. Beauty and usefulness.
When poetry works, there is beauty.
Where, pray, is the bounden territory?
Rival trills of a phantom symphony.
—Albert B. Casuga