In the silence of the gallery
A wall of words swirls around me

The white noise of voices

I crane my neck to see
Wondering where to hang my hunting trophy in my painting studio

I would like to live down a dirt road
Perhaps in a tree house
Not on the edge of the Rift Valley

Somewhere else
Where I can slosh in the snow

Just two hours
From Timbuktu
So I will never miss
A solar eclipse

Words painted on scraps of wood
Faceless strangers
Around a bonfire
Hold desolate charm
That serves to shake the mind awake

Igniting dreams of entire generations of explorers