“To Escher” by Jane Beal

Infinity. Impossibility. Reflection.
The regular divisions of a plane:

all the etchings and sketchings of your brain, Escher,
the fish and the birds that go on forever,

the geckos, the angels and devils, the Chinaman
who cartwheels out of a checkerboard pattern,

the books that become buildings,
the table that becomes a street,

the waterfall that flows upward,
the labyrinth of stairs that never ends,

your wife’s face made of orange ribbon,
your own face made of ribbon,

then entwined with the ribbon of a face
that was yours in youth,

your body in a glass ball
held by your own hand—

two hands, each drawing
the other.

 

Jane Beal
Sunflower Songs (2012)