Voices

The voice in your headphones

May be wrong

When it says the painting ‘breathes’.

There are no obvious signs.

The voice is blind:

It can’t see thoughts;

But nor can you.

Jumping a few old masters,

You move on:

A minute per picture

Seems too short

For a lifetime’s effort.

You are a masterpiece,

Needing no expert commentary

To prove yourself.

Back in the open air,

You sit, perplexed,

Consulting the day for answers.

And who’s to say

That darkening scene

In front of you

Isn’t some future Rembrandt?