Dean Kostos
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The Gates, an installation in Central Park by Christo & Jeanne-Claude, February 2005

Flaming ghosts slant through branches.
Immaterial material
shrouds a snowy graveyard. Are we
the mourners or the mourned?

Samurai banners whip through landscape.
Shinto wraiths sing
a ginger-colored god. Where
goes his shapeshifting form?

A Bulgarian march drones from the carousel.
Cavalcade of Tartar encampments,
guidons flickering by campfires.
Where have the soldiers trudged?

Art as elegy: steel bones, cloth flesh.
People in mold-colored coats step through fire,
arrive at Seurat's Grande Jatte.
Transported? Transmuted? 

Disembodied voices scatter
like powdery snow. Branches stiffen
into characters, imprint saffron robes:
Feed yourself to Buddhist flames. 
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