.

The hallway seems so narrow these days
Renoir,  Manet and Degas
become abstracts in the closeness.
Swirls and hues blend into a faded drift
nullifying the resplendency once sought

Where people stood in picturesque gardens
I can only see the pastels
the dots that once fooled perception
now reveal a worn canvas, 
some dream of artistic vision
causing some to believe it reality
and others to marvel at its complexity

As I walk the straight line
To the mirror at the end
My carried shoulders askew
all forms of art
leaving a trail of diffusion

It is not that I do not desire
the beauty,
the transcendental experience of viewing.
It is the closing of the walls
that distracts my focus.
My ability to see
beyond the colors
into the pure thought
of manifestation.

Until I reach the end
and see myself
wishing it was just an impression