In the gazebo in the middle of the plaza in Old Town
Salsa dancers collect to flounce around
In the warmth of the sunset.
And as the music ends they exit where they enter,
A line of dresses brushing the earth,
Jackets like liquid, slipping
Through a parting in the careful carved wood of the structure -
An old thing that still stands and still looks old -
Blinking its eyes closed below a cotton candy sky
Wrapping around itself, swirling
Like the dancers, welcoming in the night.
Welcome! This is where I share my art.
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"The object isn't to make art, it's to be in that wonderful state which makes art inevitable."