a mural I saw at a museum exhibit,
the words scripted across a lake
of cloudy color against white.
Except we had only twenty minutes
before the doors would close
and the guards ushered us back out
into the rain. At the train
station, all the people turning
toward monitors, watching for arrivals
and departures: each face cupped
like a flower toward the dropping
light. When I was a child, I liked
to spin in the playground---
my eyes fixed on the highest
point of a rooftop,
arms spread out like wings;
the world a drum in a zoetrope.
*
[ Zoetrope: Gr., ζωή zoe, "life" and τρόπος tropos, "turning" ]