All I Remember of You

Taylor Graham

Ambroise Vollard looks down
forever in pieces.
I imagine a microscope before him,
the world seen in magnified
bits. But no, he dealt
like you in art. A poor
reproduction, but a Picasso
after all, he hung above
my desk that whole semester,
forever looking down. A whole
semester of which I remember
fragments. A frown.
What in the world is ever good
enough, viewed by the untutored
eye, the simple heart?
Of browns and gray-tones
I made kaleidoscopes.

You always spoke of the ideal,
the analytic pie made whole.
Will you ever learn to love
its shattered edges?