tawny brown skin,
at no distance,
a fluted neck, long enough

to bear fruits from the head,
bringing kind and
obscure wisdom;

lending grace,
muse-like in obstinance,
blank in perspective,

but not pale white.


bearing in mind at every juncture
fist-shaped acorns:

they brake the glass pain
of the portraits in the louvre.

in the absence of a curtain
to contain them,
they rain like grapes.


that is what the eyes know,
that is what the eyes know.

to see blankly and without contention,
the pure shape of nice things.