[The following poem was a draft I wrote based upon this picture I say at the Kemper Museum of Art here in Kansas City.]
Quiet are the surroundings
lost in the enigmatic confines.
The boy is not there
in its protective arms
his back to the door
his knees crossed yoga style.
A four legged table
nearby, stoic its top veiled;
a byzantine respect to the lad,
knowing his child's mind
is in communion
with something bigger
beyond the sheer curtains
of a world stage.
No adult is near.
No adult could know.
Someday he too will
enter such a room
and be oblivious.
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