Another Impression
Who would have thought, a hundred years ago,
That the soft, scribbled blue smoke
Rising in Impression, Sunrise
Would fall back so hard,
To gnaw on the cathedral at Rouen
And crawl like slow fire through the forests.
Perhaps we should consider that sun an enflamed eye,
Leaking its copper into the unsuspecting sea,
Or inquire what those fishing boats are up to,
Or wonder what worse vision this was painted over.