92. Visiting Mr. Guggenheim

To look at a painting –
look, not touch –
behold beauty at
arm’s length.

Sitting
on a quiet weekday after
-noon,
looking at a
painting.

Alone in the silence of
imagination,
musing what was and
might have been.

I wish I could
look at you like a
painting,

walking back out into
the hum-drum day,
recalling the colours,
the proportions,
the brushwork

and simply forget,
lost in other images, other
realities, or
remember, from
time to time,
cold and
unassuming.