Tuesday 7 May 2019

The Panting-Pacing Eye

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.

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