The Hamlet Project

There are forms and ideas I think I have done with –
The art stuffed into a drawer, locked in the back of the closet, under a pile of clothes,
In a can in the garage, stuffed behind the bookshelf
And I’m there, too, hiding, or resting
Or simply trying to pretend I am small
And insignificant.
But Art finds its way out first and with its dusty arm, beckons for me to follow it.
Unfolding my legs
Shaking out my wings
Clearing the dust from my nostrils, I
Bow my head and drive forward.