A poem wraps around a photo of the Wright's Triangle sculpture

Inspired by Wrights Triangle, by Richard Serra

Poem by Riley Simon Block


A whimsical warmth ebbs through the woods; he lies, comforted, amongst

its volume. Gentle winds scratch the branches, causing them to sway and

dance in a protective bed. He is at peace. Though the blue of the sky

contrasts the wood, the brightness of the world unifies his spirit. He is lulled

by the mothering sounds of nature, alive and thriving, though still dreamlike.

Even as a strange voice interrupts his serenity, begging a question,

'who are you,' he doesn't flinch.


He blinks and responds as best he can.

"Forest." It's his name, and as far as he

knows, it always has been. He is forest,

nobody else.


But there is no one present to

confirm that.


Just white walls.