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.