I step out of the Dream
Into the Museum of Truth.
Only one installation.
No artist’s plaque.
No instructions.
No Do-Not-Touch-Artwork.
One giant Picasso Ball. Blue.
Several pinhole glasses
Polkadotting its walls.

Is Truth inside? To be seen
From one angle at a time?
Never the Whole, Nothing but.
The lenses are curved too
With unknown focal lengths.
Some images are far. Small.
Some in my face. Large.
Top grade in Engineering Drawing
But not very helpful, here and now.

Is it moving too?
Opening up here,
Closing down there,
Turning right out of focus.
What’s left, diffusing,
Going back into Nothing
In front of my darting eyes.
Blind men touching elephants
Have better odds to form
The composite Whole.
Not for me this Truth.
I step back into my Dream.