For art's sake

Walk in the woods this afternoon.
Trees full of orange leaves
and brownish branches.
Thousand thoughts:
What is art?
Wittgenstein bound to my heart.
"Art is whatever people call art,"
             He said.
I fell deeply into darkness,
while I held in my dominican fingers
an I, a me and  myself.
        "Art arises out of me, my child.
         No-me-no-art.
         No-art-no-me
         To dance
            These bright streets."
Am I art itself?
Am a creation
That see itself?
In my steps in the woods,
I am formed
To create an universe.