The slats, scenic backdrops a plenty
will lift or slide each moving panorama of moments
marking instants or occasion with importance.
The enormous artistry fixed in views, minute portions
of the transcendent, setting the scene.
These sublime slices will flick-book partial moments of eternity
whether outside on the pavement, treading the boards
or sat alone in a comfortable chair. (She deviated,
a random variable to their fixed value
and they thought she was mean.)
When the momentum of absence is felt in each scene
and you cannot find that moment there or anywhere,
forget all other points of view;
who is running down colonnades, falling through squares,
smashing immense slats warped enough to want you
sat, reading on a park bench, panning into insignificance,
the September rose garden, dappled fireworks on a blue sky.
