A Correct Way to Look at a Sculpture

I.

It is cold.

Your breath leaves icicles

Bright blue poles hold gold, they

Tower above you

There is no melting here


II.

Is it wrong

To see memories in art?

She looks up and waves at you

Arm lifts, warm sunbeams stroke your face

You wave at nothing


III.

Pebbles scrabble in the icy dirt

Feet shift, constant, a cacophony of sound

Are the rocks, six feet under, alone?

The tall blue poles lose their ground

And you lose the paths that meander ahead


IV.

Bright branches hold 

Glimmers of golden life

A mirage, a mural, a magical illusion

You are in a forest, but

The chill cuts to the bone


V.

In the morning it is caressed

In the evening it lies unnoticed

There is only one correct way to look at a sculpture

To feel the cold

With your eyes.