The table I drown at the rug the table's on
the window curtains all are matching blue
reflecting the cool wavelength of light our eye
discerns welling between violent and green
On the wall hangs a print The River Oise
Near Pontoise whose marine sky and stream
mirror each other like an echo of the room
filling this space with blue as water fills a pool
Pissarro wanted to be scientific:
his blues vibrate behind moving clouds
or below the rippled images of tree
and smokestack white wall red roof
On canvas he strove for the sparkle swirl
the molecule of life and always somewhere
through gray haze or the bent sunlight
of a meadow placed a figure solid
but full of grace composed like the leaves
and rocks and living wood with short strokes
of pure color—no black or white at all—as in God's
first blueprint of the world before the flood