Mosaic Pissaro, bearded like the snow-
effulgent trees, laid down his brush and sought
the sequent instant by this masterpiece
of tact. The white road is not what we thought
seeing the painting as the come and go
of light suspended in the silent air,
an every-place that will withstand the cease
of time in an oeuvre extraordinaire
demanding complete attention and repaying
a breathless gaze with rapture's winter stare.
With profit the old man was Seurat's student,
Learning the sense and nonsense of science there.
It's not to hold the light, as I was saying
to you last in order that I might wake
to a new dawn, mosaic law is prudent
and splits and multiplies for the future's sake,
and look at that white road. Casually,
as the heart its moment has passed. The sun breaks
through a cloud with the incipiency of tears.