I was young when you first showed me
The Oxbow
Not in person but recounting
Second-hand information
A splendid picture of oration and admiration
Of sublime shapes and majestic motions
Closing my eyes
To see and touch
Every curve of river
Carved without much fuss
Bristle of leaves
Shouldering the mountains, nonplus
So one day after much courage and contemplation
I anxiously began my trek up
Heaved and sighed all along the way
With the goal of achieving actualization
A floundering stream of splintering disappointment
Engulfed by painful vistas and deploration
Eyes and ears wide open
I wept as I realized we lost focus
The Oxbow–the painting
Was a figment of our collective imagination
Now we've reawoken
Its reality plain and unassuming
We find it easier to seek other jubilation
Than sit placid in front of corporeal
Our passion dissipates
