They moved in unison
familiar and easy,
but in distinctly different ways.
He with a long, thin cane
and slow, careful steps,
his eyes open and gaze nowhere.
She held his arm, or maybe he held hers,
and guided their path while whispering in his ear,
reaching for his waist and
turning his body to face each piece she wanted him to know.
Her hands circled his baseball cap covered head
and she leaned in closer,
perhaps to paint with words
an image he could only imagine.
I watched, riveted, from the bench in the corner
surrounded by art and looking at love.