No one comes to the shack
Where Uncle
Lives with his wife
And her beautiful art
There’s no term
For what she makes
Even a blank wall is thrilling
Especially this one
Where a spider walks a fine crack
She turns lonely
Into loneliness
The way priests paint eggs
For children—
The analogy
Can’t be explained
Uncle loves to watch his wife’s hands
Moving through the air
Like snails on broken glass
(Another one
That can’t be explained)
This is how art occurs
In empty roomss
Planet of the Blind 