Of the museum, each of us staring
At the silver sculpture, mirroring whom-
Ever walked by. A round-bottomed spike sharing
The room with a tall man in uniform,
The security, each uninviting
Until the man told us to push the form--
We did, each making a tinkling delighting
Each of us and the man as the sculpture
Rocked back and forth. This was the thousandth
Time he had heard the tinkling--the future
Would of course bring more--I doubt the millionth
Could make this man's delight ever depart--
His constant joy was the far better art.
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