The artist does not see the same world I see,
but what is it that she perceives that I cannot?
What does she see in its simplicity?

Perhaps it is a world where the rivers
flow backward to their source,
where mountains are gaping fissures in the earth
and valleys do not exist.
Perhaps the sky is red there,
red as blood, the heart and love.

Maybe there is a king there, who is irrational and insane,
who rules with demented tyranny.
I know she see his madness. Why else
would she be here at the river’s edge and not there?
She sees the sickening madness in his eyes,
silver as delusion, deceit and ruin.

Why does she stand in the murky water?
I want her to cross the river and be at my side,
but she must remain there, because
we are each sewn from different cloth.
She belongs to a nation where rivers
flow backward to their source,
where mountains are gaping fissures in the earth
and valleys do not exist.
Here on Earth, the sky is blue.
Perhaps there are red skies there, but

I am blind to her world. I cannot
perceive what she sees.
I want to cross the river and see
this other universe, but
we are each sewn from different cloth.

But we shall never let this stop us from
meeting in the middle, with murky water
splashing around our feet.

Only there, will she show me what she sees.