In this place founded by a collector you have placed a collection
Conker shells, snails, petals, butterflies
All turned into garlands, necklaces, jewellery
Adornments; traced from nature
Worn
Among a touring collection of prize winners
Who I fear are altogether
Less delicate artists
Carrot cake
Coffee with cream
Lilacs in a jar
This might not be a free lunch
But it’s as close
As you or I can get away from yesterday
From all those other memories
Going
Still going
Mind concentrations sat aloft the stand
Obsessions foraged from the land
A thousand seed reductions are given to the need
The Million Dollar Collar by-passes inner greed
Safety pins and tweezers
The parachutes of artichoke seed heads
If ever one thing confirmed the beauty of art and craft
If ever one exposition showed the complement of art and craft
If ever doubt was mistaken in the search for truth
If ever life for youth
Don't go there
For you are art; however here we see you
I have nothing but my memory to remind me, and those few words of yours laid neatly on the wall. What chances then for your survival, among a world of artistic competition. Would one photograph be a catastrophic difference, or is it the fear that this picture too would be overlooked. Jesûs Mari Lazkano how do I see beneath your surface, how do I get under your superficial skin? I do see the point; or rather I don't see the one point, I see many points to view, but somehow too big a thing to grasp. For certain without your explanation I would not see the layered depths that you speak of so neatly; so how do I regain you, when I have nothing, nothing but my memory to remind me.
