The last time we spoke
Your wrinkles called 
Out my name
Your eye was furious and 
Your words were sharp as knives;

pause

Your work was exonerated by
Dozens of collectors and
Artists alike
And I felt...for the 
First time...that you
Didn't care for me at all
Bought your art for a while 
Then I wouldn't--

stop

Couldn't....

pause

The saltwater drops 
Fell from my windows
How cruel you were that day...

sigh and pause

And amidst curators and
Critics,
Prophets of the art world
Mystics of the long run
I....

breath

I heaved your name
Published your color-filled
Moons and 
Letters 
Into the interior
The deepened instinct 
That you hated me for so much

cry

I only loved you then.

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