From the Terra Cotta Warriors, I continue
to the Paleontology Room and linger
in a dim corner. Single spotlights
illuminate slices of petrified tree trunks
displayed like flat screens on black-carpet walls.
glimmering, frozen galaxies.
If God sliced through us,
we would be as beautiful.
A mass of red, lustrous strokes
a few canary-hued suns bursting.
Patrons stopping at my glass encasement,
wondering who this might be.