Sandwiched between your mother and your children,
And their mother, you thoughtfully navigate the Institute.
Conjured images tell stories 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?Tiny artwork spread throughout cavernous rooms
reminds us of the enormity of us, the way we
stomp and shout, dress and tend to the daily details
of what may amount to nearly nothing.
I understand you no better than that 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 to kiss you,
and wonder, again, how this part got so familiar?
How much are we like that box of light and mirrors?
From across space, it appears normal, banal even, like any other.
We approach unafraid, and peer in, surprised to see infinity,
which is after all only an illusion.
To feel art as complex as love and family,
we must pay more attention, but not look too closely.