of Fine Arts
by Phoebe Wray
boat of millions of years
aground in Boston.
Lights blazing like the red desert,
or the black one,
humidity gauges discreet in a corner
on the floor
where shod feet polish the marble
and plain eyes
read the little tags
and acquisition numbers.
blossoming black in the sunny room,
sun disk lost
your eyes as ancient
as the boat of millions of years
surrounded by faces
that cannot understand.
and touch the wild and
moving stone paw
and weep for your loneliness
moving in the boat of millions of years.
list of links to some more of Phoebe Wray's work - short stories
and writings published elsewhere - can be found at www.phoebewray.net