Not the Broken Walls, Domes, and Floors of Byzantium
The emanations from his chest will not make
Impressionist tableaux. Tessera yield
No muzziness (more like a steamer’s wake).
The cubes are harder than a Monet field
And are aware of their male nature. Past
Things form inside his ribs again and push
For strength, not sweetness. Memories are massed
To be as firm as bronze. A burning bush
Is more like what he aims for since its stems,
Despite God’s flames, refuse to be destroyed.
Mosaics are too soft. A frozen Thames
Is what he wants, fixed. Maleness is deployed.
..A foreigner this man is not. His art
….Means you and me, men. It is not apart.