I read something about your show,
and how you said there seems to be a lack of space.
It reminds me of our winters in Berkeley,
Where we huddled by the bell tower for warmth
And looked towards each other
for signs that we are alive.
I remember telling someone it was a phenomenon.
I think she misunderstood.
The event is so much more interesting than the person,
the limitations of space, like
a beauty shop in the attic,
an exhibition in the kitchen of someone else's dream,
And I wonder, if space isn’t enough to show a tree
How does a room know when it has been to the sea?
In a woman?
In her belly?
Or a pair of feet desperate to step on water again?