in minesweeper, you are a sculptor.
you start by cracking away at the stone, removing gigantic pieces
beginning to shape the slab of stone
subtractive modeling, subtracting mines
only through analysis,
muscle memory; the familiar sense of carving through marble,
can you succeed.
it doesn't matter how long you might take:
thirty-two seconds, nine hundred ninety-nine -
ghiberti took twenty-seven years to complete the gates of paradise -
the only importance is the learning experience of creation
and the sublime beauty of the finished product
that should be carried into a museum, admired,
forever (beyond the end of the universe)
in the hearts of art lovers
avoiding, failing to, careless mistakes that lead to a gruesome sight
a hundred quarriers worked for that block.
a hundred lives taken by a cursor's graze on a landmine.
sometimes the stone is imperfect, difficult to work with
you desperately try to avoid the surely inevitable mistake,
hoping lady luck favors you,
hoping you are another michelangelo
you aren't michelangelo, but fortuna may pity you today
sculptors vary in temperance, expression:
the gambling of a novice, cataloguing every move in hopes of epiphany,
the deliberate, careful chiseling of the stony squares,
or the flowing, speedy impatience forming a masterpiece
or a hastened failure
each is beautiful, endearing, compelling
through minesweeping they and you sculpt, engineer, design,
destroy to develop an artwork,
through the click of a mouse,
telling a unique tale -
the furrowed brow, the blessed fortune granted to a trigger-happy hand -
and even though it is unlikely to be heard,
you are an extraordinary artist.