Maggie Smith

When you leave the museum of contemporary art, opening the doors to midday, you may need a few minutes to reset context: the bike shackled to the sign is only a bike, the sign only a sign, no small white exhibit labels. Out here birds are nothing but their crumb-begging ...

It sounds like someone wound up the wrens and let them go, let them chatter across your lawn   like cheap toys, and from here an airplane seems to fly only from one tree to another, barely   chalking a line between them. We say the naked eye as if the eye could be ...