And their mother, you thoughtfully navigate the Institute.
Tiny artwork on display before enormous windows
that look out on a city that is no longer ours.This maze of walls leads each of your people
in their own directions, each to our own conclusions.
Where is the lavender wall with neat white lettering
which interprets and explains your lifes’ work?
I understand you no better than the stack of used tires,
but at least I like you better. I feel drawn to you as acutely
as I feel the micro-hesitation from you as I lean in for a kiss,
and wonder, again, how such a simple act can be so familiar and yet so un.
To feel art as complex as love and family,
we must pay more attention, but not look too closely.