high in airports behind glass as you rush ahead can't miss that 3:45 to atlanta transfer at 6:15 northbound snowy weather ahead slows your pace and you glance left and briefly see one man's work, his everything laying there beside polynesian masks and no admittance signs and 6 million people pass every year and don't blink. but your children pull on the hem of your skirt and want to paw at the colors that are trapped behind the conveyor belt.
meanwhile, he sits in his drafty room working on the next masterpiece which will sit above a gas fireplace somewhere where the houses have no soul and the roads are wide with freshly painted yellow lines that get more attention from speed trap junkies than anything you can see from the line at the pizza stand.
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