San Raphaël, 1965

Open wide the window
which gives to the sun.
Rock on the rhythms
of a passing phrase
in a foreign tongue.

Such is the air, seen
to be unseen, that we
can measure and mime
the sun’s slow time.
Clocks interfere.

Compare the beat as
shadows slice off glare
and a Degas bather,
in some cool room,
brushes her hair.

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