I was back in the Monet room
and I always wind up there
because they were your favorites
because you liked staring at bunches of wheat
I fancy the way they only come together
when you look at them from a certain distance
and even then you aren't sure
kind of like us
We've never made the sort of sense
that most people can appreciate
at any sort of distance
even with the proper perspective
They can't get past the fact
we're content with some wheat
a couple of trees
maybe a little house way in the back
It's as if that isn't enough
that such simple things
lack some necessary dramatic element
we've neglected in our lives
Maybe there's some truth to that
we've been staring at the same things for so long
that it's hard to say for sure
what exactly we're seeing anymore
There's more I could say
but it suddenly doesn't seem so important
it's just nice to know you're here with me
watching paint dry as the seasons change
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