Impression Sunrise, 1872
by Claude Monet
Days scorched
Dry and bare.
Caught like a fly in a web.
A pacing-panting eye
On a swiveling neck.
How far can one go?
Thirsting new skies.
Flicking old ties.
At least for a few silent moments
To peer into the clouded depths
of a breeze-creased lake so blue,
To feel the sway of water-weeds grey
And the kickswim of the froglet stray.
To see a lone cloud or two
Afloat on its surface.
And later that night
The molten red moon bleed all over it.
Then maybe,
The panting-pacing eye too
Would learn to still itself.
To hold tenderly in its waters, all life,
With a loving and patient sigh.
