A painter I respect said she liked art history.
I saw her sketches,
vitrined,
her influential streams,
palimpsests of western dreams.
No pony masks there, or Dave jugs,
not one stone guide
or smudged bark mark.
Her art history went where there were streets
so well described
and clouded with thought
I couldn't clearly see them anymore.
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When you return, listen to the redbird for me.
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Lakshmi
hurga
Kavithuvam
are dancing
