in the foreground
individual instruments sounding together
immersed in the histories of other times
away from the known places
what is in their minds so very different
every moment important
as I wait for him to return
ferns in a vase on the dining room table
unexpected domesticity
in the paintings of the Gold Rush
accumulated sketch books tell the story
the colors of the Wine Country hillsides
the difference that a small amount of blue
creates in the already dark green area of the canvas

seldom talks about what it was like
what to say to each other
"Yes, I was there one summer"
not sure what to do. It was the fifties
afterwards there was never anyone else

self portraits of artists
as if by making the painting
when he said it was the way I looked
in a cafe in Berkeley, listening to music