Fire dies when dirt lies
Colors fade after rain preys
Crops wither to dust when light hides
A dusty cracked throat is refreshed
When water nourishes
Slippers tiptoe across the floor
As the wood creaks and stresses
The slippers stop to admire
What hangs from the walls
In the clear gallery
They position at each scene
The hands paw at each of them
Examining the strokes and canvas
They take hold of a frame
And lay it on the floor
The slippers move off
And the feet step into the scene
Where the hands do not admire
But eyes
Adore what has been missing