When I gaze upon a pond
I see with Monet's eyes
its spread of pink, white, yellow, green
and talismanic landmark
in New Mexican desert
ever O'Keeffe's high altar
and mobbed portraits
peopled by Brueghel
now in any crowded space
Monet's water lilies
O'Keeffe's pedernal
Brueghel's teeming masses
requisitioned for Art
once in their thrall
always biased sightings.
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