In the Gallery

 

In the Gallery

The visitor's shadow
crosses the picture

She leans her cheek against the varnish
her neck glistens—

"Come to me
to the mildewed corners
to the net curtains like fish-bone
I will show you
where I and my jewels were buried
I will peel the cobwebs from my face
My eyes will raise their heavy wings
They will undulate with ale
like the inns of Delft

Drink
I will bring you a crumbling glass
from the ruins
where the grass reaches up to the waist
a malignant green

Come
we will dig we will search for my pearl
my face
where one stone rests
upon another"