VIII. L’équilibre [entre la réalité et l’idéal]

VIII. L’équilibre [entre la réalité et l’idéal]

Calyces formed from a metal cutter fume their red—Rilke’s bowl
Of roses (1907) lost to describe Eliot’s disturbed dust on a bowl of rose-leaves (1935)—
Helen Frankenthaler instills the heartwood’s spirit through an invisible pochoir
Standing against it—Does she reference Empson, where Marvell’s jewels melt
In these pendants (1930, 1947); their particles’ probable fields of glacé
Fruit thawed in the assurance of something beyond these blue signal flares

From Restoration lachrymation, bile-stirring si vous n’avez rien à me dire flares
Cholecystokinin, appetite suppressant, after the near-born analgesic of being bowled
From rose-colored pools of the eyelids, where a fault is planned, without glaçage—
A cranial nerve (X) trills in dread, and comments on the forage, on an afterimage left
By soak-stain theory; rather, a widow’s peak accented by her headband; the tapered pochoir
Of her mind lurching from grasp–Mountains and Sea (1952) unmatched by those variations of oil-melt,

Mudflats at the water’s surface by an upturned paint can—Here, the brown-edged pool is melting
Diving gulls swooping and gulping and filling the bags of O’Hara’s Blue Territory (1955) as calcium flares
From a fingered wall, a carcass, and then an assault; kept from feeding to death; a pochoir
Of Rilke’s careening horses onto Frankenthaler’s intonaco as unprimed canvas, sublimating ruts bowled

Their meters by sponge mop; makeshift implements to plane the grooves of actuarial marrons glacés—

Solar decimals narrowing into a spectrographic line—Go, said the bird, for the leaves

Were full of children—Here, an entire immolated trousseau, a line of Burnt Norton (1972), its leaves
Brushed by the poet’s brooding turns on the grounds into one continuous mold—The melting
XVIe Canopic branch of the Nile at Saïs, and Neith, the patron’s face among a menagerie of jars; a body under a demi-glace
Of resin—Personifying both the linen shroud and the spear’s mark; the stomach, to be fetched out like a child, flaring
Putrescence; Moses’s wife, Zipporah, trained there—She suggests the livid atmosphere of the body; incontinent of its pochoir,
Often consigned women’s painting—All the pulses in concert within their larded hulls, the snow in a silver bowl,

Befitting Aimé Césaire’s acid in the flesh of life (1946), which fangs the viscera on a fixed sustenance of morphine bowled
From the gut internodes and pancreas, cholecystokinin—Not just the follicular and clotting Japanese maple leaves
Uncurled in Frankenthaler prints; the slipped hatchet's work—After JMW Turner’s fallen pochoir,
Stranded Vessel Making Signal (Blue Lights) of Distress (1831)—Wide-throated swallows dive just before the melting
Sunlight; after Pichette, to temper their thirst for the moon (1982, 2009)—A harpooned whale, barnacle-glacéed
From the Ambleteuse and Wimereux sketchbook (1845), with the subsiding strength of a flare

And Rilke, among these opened ones, that shed everything (1907); as after a nap, the placid absorption flaring
Inside Ruskin’s Study of a Velvet Crab (1870), and it is this demonstration of cold front, Barometer (1992) bowling
Ocean liners in the distance; contrary to acrylic’s affinity for dense scars—For E.M. (1982), the glacé

Of the fish market vaporizes, barring a suggestion of Manet’s copper pot, which leaves

Fluids and relics adumbrated at the same site, where compiled works do not offer pochoirs—

Rather, each encounter is, as Frankenthaler volatilized, XIe Genji’s final chapter, Yume no Ukihashi: Floating Bridge of Dreams melting

In the hollow of the hand, where flares of blocks or arroyos paid out for some—Masses melt

Of the shadow of Genji’s leaf paper-partitioned beloved; Nature Abhors a Vacuum (1973), and diet of glacéd cherries—

The reflecting bowl announces this time, our root of the tongue winds its way around a nail, pochoirs of myenteric plexes, toward new aquamarines for blue umbels—