The train’s window cloudy as cataracts.
Slowly, my body returns to me.
Though Rodin’s Genius of Eternal Rest 
is without head and arms, nothing essential 
is missing. He dares sorrow, leans into it. 
Nothing is lost in Neel’s Self-Portrait, her breasts 
resting flat against her belly. 
Green shading: she’s draped in earth. 
Blue tension outlines her: the sky out lines her. 
I sit with her for a moment 
in the striped chair. Rise alone. 
I am beginning to accept what I have lost. 
Blue leans into me like new love.