So much lies within Henri’s nude standing
lakeside, clearest human form among his
pointillist loungers soaked in commanding
light, electric oils predicting hazed bliss
of Sixties neon. Her tiptoe slightly
touching white towel, dot knees barely bent,
pubus perhaps honor’s badge (tinged lightly
in bruised blue), navel a teardrop pendant
on hint of bulged belly, breasts pale islands
seeming severed from her neck and face—gaunt,
faded emerald and bowed—her flexed hand
pulling long hair toward sky, symbol to haunt
us with sculpture of Perseus: arm stretched
in victory, vaunting Medusa’s head.
Roger Armbrust
June 14, 2009
