Those seated on the floor of this cavern,

cross-legged like Indians,

watching a blockbuster video on the wall,

can only see the imitation of the perfect idea

of Liberty,

the shadow of the Statue an image;

hanging over their shoulder is the light,

but they cannot turn towards it.

Still those who travel to these shores from afar

may have a glimpse of it

in New York Harbor

majestic, dazzling, lightening the world





(like a trick of gods the Form,

yet hollow a trojan horse,

tabernacle of so many perfect ideas,

most feared cortege of silhouettes

that at night sneak out and rape

lady Liberty in the dark.)


I believe, there are also those with a passion

for the Δ, those who dedicate the night

to contemplating the brightest thing of all,

the Supreme Idea of Goodness.


(Apparently, they are to be found

mostly in catacombs.)


Elena Malec, California 1997