Interpretation by Greg Baysans

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Overhead, the grey of crystal. A maze of bridges -- these straight, those round, others falling at odd angles into the foreground. Reflections flicker endlessly down the lit tunnels of the canals, sure but shaky such that the shores, crowded with structures, collapse and shatter. A few bridges echo the homeless who lived there. Some display sticks, guideposts, weak balconies. Minor chords cross the blear and disappear; cords rise from the banks. You note a red vest among willy-nilly get-ups and the instruments of a musician. Top ten, a snatch of classical gas, the left-over part of the national anthem? The water is grey and blue, and deep as an ocean inlet. A streak of white from heaven above anhialates the joke. 

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2-16-03