Museum

The forgotten museum on central avenue stands
in the white shades of snow today.
Its boarded windows are visible.
The bronze statue of Venus has lost her gaze.
The finches are featherless.
Once my eyes observed the exhibits like slow ticking hands;
my hands reached to grab the urn
radiating in Grecian beauty,
falling away from the eyes of the crowd, I saw them then,
faceless learners.

My eyes shifted. Often I crave
to touch the still and timeless kingdom
of brushstrokes and human devotion. But on this morning,
as a mother to her son's grave,
I wept upon those icicle steps.
Humans moved quickly,
pulsating their bodies upon normal matters
like the quick flair of a hummingbird's wings.