So you see the struggles, it was hard.
Took me a while, nearly about 20 or 30 more
of those before that.
So I think it took that whole time to get.
And so I'll just put the word hope in that, then it counts.
I'm going to read two more poems, and these are new poems.
And so I'm just going to read them to you because I really
liked writing them.
And they're acrostic poems, so they're based
on the artwork of Agnes Martin.
And does anyone know that work?
Yes.
Do you like it?
Yeah.
So it's really huge.
Lots of times, it's 10 by 10, and there
are these little rectangles that she used and/or stripes,
and really like mathematical work,
and it appeals to me because it's just filled with feeling,
though you wouldn't think so.
So I'll read this one, and show you the piece,
and then I'll and then I'll show you
the piece first for the next one and I'll read you the poem.
So we'll reverse the order.
This one's called "Untitled Number nine, 1995."
Agnes only had nine years to live.
The angels must have begun to hover around
her canvas like monkeys.
This canvas has nine white thin strips
between the red and blue ones.
I've spent my life thinking about the blue ones,
thinking they were the future, but the future
was red all along.
I sense something is ending, but I'm not
sure what, maybe it's the future.
This morning, I looked at a large spiderweb above my car.
When I returned 10 minutes later, the weaver was gone,
the web dismantled, but my hands were still open.
Maybe a life it doesn't matter so much as the feeling
it leaves behind, whether anyone receives the feeling or not.
Maybe our goal is to spend all the light since none of us
asked to be born.