period rooms
outside the high windows
of the art museum
the tree-size rock sculptures
twist upward through the air,
an almost liquid movement,
rock protrusions reaching
toward each other
as if with intent, a movement
of arms or hands.
gray mist on green grass.
the sidewalks damp.
a half-dozen people strolling
toward the entrance by the parking lot.
an unfolding screen, a scroll unrolled
behind glass —
the cloud-eaten hills
brushed in pale black ink,
lone figure standing on porch by water,
boatman pushing boat
with long pole,
overhanging trees swaying
with terraced leaves,
the river bending away
into a sea of emptiness —
in the cool air of the atrium
water trickles over a marble fountain.
a dozen people waiting in line
for the traveling exhibit.
light opens in an ancient face, body
and background lined and grained
in brown and earth, the wear
and gravity of a life given over
to debt and commerce.
the eyes gaze out from the self-portrait
pulling downward
toward the root of the world,
weighing and measuring.
the tour group gathers around
the museum guide, she stands
straight-legged,
straight-shouldered
near a potted plant, gestures
toward an interior scene
toned in browns.
bronze music glows
from the white walls.
through a door, the walls checkered
with small gray rectangles,
faded shades of early photographs —
but not photographs:
sketches and etchings
drawn in gray, detailed in gray,
view of river and buildings, men
gathered near a doorway,
a sighing ancient woman’s face —
green air in the windows, plum blossoms
clinging in pale light, old man
bent carrying a bundle of wood
across a foot bridge,
mountain veiled in falling snow.