At the museum I kept leaning towards a painting—
Picasso’s Minotaur Moving His House. Bit of defeat
in the beast’s eye even as he walked toward a new frontier.
His head turned to be sure no mob or man followed.
Maybe that day, the minotaur taught me something
about leaving; his neck wrenched, looking back.
No amount of distance can ever erase the labyrinth.
The once green ivy now paler in memory.
The once bright chaos not as bright but still there.
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