The appearance of perfection:
Chiaroscuro come to an August day
Wafted by van Rijn.
Against the waving sky is the great tree
Icon for what, I do not wish to know.
Icon for what I do not wish to know.
What I cannot defeat I will to learn to meet.
Measure with level gaze on ordained ground;
Parry, attack and parry, sabers clanging
Along the warning lines.
This shadow fencer is unwearying
Nor will his blade aim for my side or arm:
It is heart’s blood he seeks.
So be it. This is an honorable stain
And I may give in kind.
Five points in all—
A venerable number.
Right deep I bear these wounds into the sun
And lean against the tree.
And lean against the tree.
—Myrna Reid
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