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When your heart begins to give you trouble
I am enchanted by the reliable magic of abstract painting. My children have been embarrassed when, at a public gallery, I would take their hands and stand directly in front of a painting that is chaotic with color, then slowly back away with them until the picture’s gestalt slips into place. Suddenly, a coherent image. With them in hand, I would move back and forth, watching bits of information gather themselves into a picture and fall into chaos as we moved further then closer to the art. In the same way, these poems are discrete points of experience. As reports of particular moments, they seem chaotic. Together, they gather themselves into a coherent picture.