Jeu de Paume, December, I return to your galleries,
To a museum I learned about as a kid, now among
Video arranged to remind you it’s also elsewhere, too,
Old photographs of Things. Orchids, for example.
The feast for the eyes of form’s fit with matter,
The hunger it gives to keep seeing, cultivating
Conditions of vision, understanding. What warmth,
Witness, in certain havens of cold walls.
What solitude then is being sculpted me?
Publics await. Which ones ready? For what?
Whatever it is, whoever you are, fear not.
Welcome, I have proof I’ll say if the sight of
You pleases me. Signs sprouting along contours
Of care’s disposition betrayed a watching with.