“Come see the artwork,” they said,
So I looked, and I saw it –
there, up ahead,
And above, and below, and indeed,
In wall, floor and ceiling,
“Look: collages, etchings, drawings, and paintings.”
But I really preferred the
Of the slate floor’s grain lines as they
whirled and twirled
And crashed against the edges of their
“These collages profoundly express social awareness and deep feeling.”
But in truth, I thought more of the
Where the gaps and the cracks in the rough
Told me vague tales of time sealed behind
the past’s doors.
“This artist portrayed life in candid and bold etchings and sketches.”
But my interest was all in another floor’s
Of marbled molasses set in wood
Sealed smooth so I saw my own face when
I looked down.
“These paintings…” but I still didn’t hear.
I was too busy looking up, down, far
Completely wrapped up in all that
This was pure beauty
But did I
see all there was to see?
have looked beyond (and how far?) what I saw easily?
have tried to comprehend something unnatural to me?
have reached out to grasp a different kind of beauty?