While I sit on the blocks of a sculpture garden reading a package of grapefruit slices, some one so much younger takes a shot -- of me-- in my grey lace, cover, your grey silk, over, a beige skirt, gun metal sandals.
There are no statues in this sculpture garden. They were removed. The marble fountain is dry, but a waiter sets tables in a cafe.
I melt into solitude
And you? Do you think no one is watching you, watching yourself?