You read something, or watch or listen
and you find the thing astonishing.

It is a glorious work of art
moving in some way you couldn’t have imagined.

You remember it always.
It is a powerful piece
that defines you in some way.
It stays on your shelf
but more,
it stays in your heart.

And then you return to it later
to review this beauty, this meaning
that touched you so,
and you say, “This?
This!? What the fuck, man?”

And you think on it, and wonder if it was the drugs,
or the lover you took that week,
or the friends from that semester,
or just how the stars aligned at the time.
Maybe you needed the art at that moment.
Maybe it was right for you then,
and not now.

Or maybe you’re wrong now
but it doesn’t haunt you anymore.

Weird, huh?