Despite years of viewing art, a realization grows anew: there are no perforations, no Right or Left
We simply Are, in all our fragility. Together, on a floating ball
Silver-haired couples like teenager couples
Groups of women like the lone man with a backpack
They observe observations Someone made before their existence
The seen and the unseen, the life gurgling inside us.
Cuffed jean, straight leg jean alike
A guard stands in silence, two guards converse
The large man in blue and neon green stripes, a petite woman in millennial pink
People with hands in pocket, hands behind back
And like Shakespeare said, “all the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.”
Nothing more, nothing less
