Monet, l'Orangerie

You’d see the charm, how manicured and small
That pond—now by a highway—stands preserved.
How ordinary is the light, how short
That bridge from which the master once observed.

To go is nice, but not the point I think.
It’s here, in all its polychrome of time.
The water mixed with sky, forever still,
In varied shades of strangely flat sublime.

In this triumphant harmony you can
Perceive subjective multitudes, that line
The walls of caves in valleys, undisturbed.
To show us what perspective can refine.

We do distrust it though, this chocolate tin
Perfection of a world that doesn’t graze.
Its gift of peace the gesture of a man
Who could do naught but praise and praise and praise.

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