Both of them slept here or should I say
slipped out — and surveyed every inch
of the room, dizzy from all the knotty pine, watching
the screen blizzard on an old TV. Even
feeling the wind wrap around the skirts
of Camille Monet ( a framed print) as she stood on the hill
looking down at something familiar. Her green parasol
veined, backlit by the sun and diminishing glare.
And at some point, they began to quarrel
over what she viewed. The sea with a fishing village
or simply a house in the field — where a slight woman faltered
in shadow across its upstairs curtains.
They were split on focus, on how to approach
this sudden poem. One self against the other,
one side of the mattress stained, sunken with fatigue —
the other cleaner, closer to the incoming light.
Note — The photo is by photographer,Ray Laskowitz.