The Art of Becoming

There at the Louvre we stood
With pictures we’d taken along our journey
Of neatly arranged things on clean sterile surfaces
Only to realise- this was not art
Because art had to be raw, art had to be honest
The untameable offspring of the unrevised truth
The radical declaration of the whispers unspoken
The stitch sewn to hold the widening distance between us
The last act of surrender, to nothingness, to air
We had to embark on a new journey to freedom
To dig out the raw from the place where we hid it
And finally to become, to become, to become