It’s not the plane of rust
against the wall
that made me fall in love with art again.
I’ll start again:
It’s not the angles of the white
that made me stay up late last night
and take myself apart again
to try to find the light,
It was you.
And you’re right.
And if you think, I think you’ll find
that art can come to every kind
and impart many states of mind on sight.
It can even break my heart again,
and it might.
I’ll start again.
this is really really nice.