The hallway ends at Dikeou. There among the art exhibits, with an audience of six, two poets fed off each other. And those who came to hear them. And those they admired.

Two giant pink bunnies deflate,

puddling onto the floor.

She asked him to recite “I Heard a Fly Buzz When I Died.”

He said he’d never been able to commit that one to memory. He said he could recite Yeats and Keats all night.

She said sometimes it’s too terrifying to have a full Emily Dickinson poem inside you.

Caught by one poet mopping up champagne,

the only one pouring it.