How could I know that the flames you ignited
Within my soul that were carelessly started
With words and intentions that hotly incited
Every passion within me that arose to the fore,
Were only an arsonist's plaything, a lark
Incendiary visions displayed in the dark,
Leaving me scorched, yet wanting for more? - 1999
Red Morton Park, March 9, 2001
I pour myself into your eyes
And through mine I
Travel into your soul;
Your little mouth, so delicate
Tempts mine, I can't help
Devouring you whole.
| The Answer
When I look deep into your eyes
You ask me what I see.
The answer's very simple:
The other part of me. - 2003
Hidden in a grove of trees
The Pumpkin Mover stands.
His face is covered by the leaves,
And heavy are his hands.
They say that sometime long ago
He couldn't find a home
When all the neighbors hued and cried
That he leave their town alone.
But instead of packing up his gourd
A secret hiding space
Amidst small redwoods he did go,
And there he found his place.
The matron of this effigy
Who held the sculptor's tools
Made him hers, and so it went
She'd broken all the rules.
To finish her creation
And declare the job was done,
She swiftly signed in wet cement:
"Nine Eleven, Zero-One".
Time now has passed, the Artist, too,
As days run into days,
Though weather-beaten and decayed,
The Pumpkin Mover stays.
Poem by By Deb Wong
Sculpture by Arabella Decker.