Flow with me, dear, along Calder’s sidewalk
mosaic. Its undulating stone tiles
of blue-gray and white almost make us balk,
ribboned waves seeming to rise and fall, miles
of ocean in only one block. Perhaps
it’s sea breeze engulfing us, Atlantic’s
call only yards away, how art can trap
us in nature when senses least expect
it. So it was with Christo Redento.
There atop Corcavado, you ignored
our viewing platform’s panorama to
gaze at the carpenter. How you implored
me to grasp what you saw there high above:
his arms, not soapstone, but opened in love.
Roger Armbrust
January 9, 2010
