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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