Where the World Ends, There Is Art

Where the World Ends
There Is Art

There are several people
Looking at paintings
Wearing shirts
With long sleeves
With drinks in long glasses
With long nights ahead of them
With uncomfortable shoes
They can't wait to take off

With the hands of the people they loved
Entwined in their hands
Enjoying the fact
That they have no idea
What they're looking at
And yet, they feel
Enriched

There are actors on a stage
Waiting for lights to adjust
For just a moment
When they can conceive
Reaching a point
Of perfection
And conclusion
And hopefully both
At the very same time

They're wondering what they do
Why they do what they do
Why what they do
Brings them so much

There's a man in an attic
Looking at a dress
Looking at two dresses
Looking at three
Looking at all three
Wondering
What he's made

There's a woman in front of a mirror
Moving her body
Stretching herself
Past her breaking points
Feeling her body cautiously agree
To do something new

She hears the music
The music another woman wrote
Six years ago
In a recording studio
About a man
She lost
Suddenly

And suddenly the woman in front of the mirror
Begins to dance

And suddenly the song
Picks up speed

And suddenly the actors speak
And suddenly the dressmaker picks up scissors
And suddenly the people in front of the paintings
Agree that they love what they see

They come to the realization
That sometimes
Not ever being able to know something
The sheer unknowability of something
Is exactly what makes you love it

And this is what they find
At the end of the world

Because when these people go home
When the actors go home
When the dancer changes
When the dressmaker turns off the lights in his attic
When the writer stops writing for the day
When the painter decides to let the paint dry
The world ends a little

But it'll pick up
And start again

When the new day begins
When a new end of the world
Winds itself up

This is where the world ends
And here
There is
Art