The moment you step into this city
you belong to it. You transubstantiate
from body into moment.
You are a New York Moment.
Franck arrived five years ago from Paris,
though only lately saw my creatures
in the Facebook Forest
and decided he felt one with them. Franck
knows Art the way they do: they are it.
They’ve walked the plank
and fallen into it and have become it.
Franck said he’d like to be my model:
maybe hold my violin and strum it.
I said I never work from models
but okay. And so he spent a good part of the day
bestowing what he is, while wryly undergoing
being looked at by an awkward cuss.
I made such a fuss.
I forgot how pencils worked.
I forgot what drawing was.
But then I handed him my violin and watched him
win by doing what does to play his part.
He turned that into art.
And then he turned me into art as well.
For the New York Moments
we perforce will always be,
this, of course,was swell.