Glance to the window and then back and then to the sky and then to the walls waiting for words to let go and move. Holding fast inside a dream and always wanting to escape and then to run home and then to move and then to settle in. I remain in one spot for a second and see, if not enjoy, the view.
Hard walls, melting into dark sun streaks left for the heated concrete. Rusted foliage and stale clouds. And inside are crowds. Outside are faces. Everywhere are windows, ruins of the future rising into cold fortresses.
I see through the surface to the stars. The wonder of the light.
I realize I am right where I am suppose to be. Someone told me that long ago. I didn’t like it. Now they are gone. I remember. This can’t be a prison if it is chosen. It is all a playground. Forever changing. Walls only crumbling reflections from and into my own mind’s eye.
Another eyesight sees beyond. Or tries to.
Yet for now, this is a chosen place. Not a lesson, but a heaven. Not a restraint, but a dance. Not an end, but a beginning. Not a wall, but a mirror.
This a Chosen Place is 24″×36″ acrylic and India ink on canvas. July 2009