Lisa RobertsonA Modest Treatise
(an essay on perspective for Allyson Clay)
It was a warm September evening.
We dissolved corporeally into air leaving only our look.
The night was populated with images.
Some were moved easily to pity.
Some were sharp and suspicious, some credulous and pure.
Some were haughty and bitter.
Some human.
Some malleable and obsequious.
Some were gay.
Some were shy, solitary and austere.
Some liked to be praised by our work.
Some suffered when criticized.
Some were cruel in their arrogance, weak in danger, and so forth.
It would be a waste of words to describe them all.