I went to an art exhibit with my friend, Brian.
The artist took pictures of large groups of people
from a helicopter.
Inevitably, patterns emerge,
just in the movement of people.
From afar, just as up close, we are works of art,
from concept to design to finished product,
heart, mind, and soul.
Do we have the eyes to see, the ears to hear
the will to believe so?
“I’m polyamorous,” he said, smoking his cigarette.
“Meaning?” I said.
“I love many people. I don’t know how anybody can love just one,” he said.
He exhaled and watched the smoke rise.
“My best friends is going away,” he said, “not forever, but for a long time. I hope she’ll be happy.”
We leaned against the adjacent wall.
I imagined he did know how to love just one, and did. But who am I to know anything?
I’ve seen the billboards.
I’ve read the news.
I’ve heard it all.
Just tell me about
There is a time for much company,
for cross-table chats and boisterous behavior;
then there is time for small rooms, intimate ventures,
quiet, soulful conversations
Now, I think, is the time for the latter