why do we return. it doesn't matter why. we say it doesn't matter when we don't know, and it doesn't matter. what matters is we return. i return to the pictures of the concrete boat. because of the image because of the boat. i remember when the men with jackhammers made the shapes and filled them with new concrete. who knows what they saw. they may have seen my boat. i return to show it better, to make it more plain. it wasn't like what i made it be before. and i saw the boats twombly made, like a kid's drawings, but with the sadness of a man who erased a lot of things, feeling towards, with casual care, in making feelings things.