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