Issue 169, Spring 2004
Facing wisteria, his eyesight dim,
Monet painted a footbridge over a pond,
dawn, noon, sundown. Seeing only blue,
not violet and not red, he gazed at willows
no longer willows, and cried for the sun
that would always outblaze new city lights.
Just as his eyesight failed, his vision grew.
In Japanese Bridge, green loops span two banks
as they might touch two continents. Two centuries.