how, beyond all foresight
or intention, light
plays with a face
whose features play with light:
frame on gilded frame,
ancestor on ancestor,
the gallery is filled
with more certainty than we can bear:
if there must be
an art of portratuire,
let it show us ourselves as we
break from the image of what we are:
the animation of speech, and then
the eyes eluding
that which, once spoken,
seems too specific, too concluding:
or, entering a sudden slant
of brightness, between dark and gold,
a face half-hesitant,
face at a threshold:
charles tomlinson
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