Sun on the eiderdown
breaks tiny corners off the bedspread, declares green plants its bidding
before summoning Fragonard's maiden
off her swing--so richly dressed
in picture from the sunlit wall.
Expensive tabac from an imported humidor
etches tiny leaves
their stems as faces against the glass,
rich aroma, tresor, like the Jolly Tupper print
preparing his bowl,
drawing on the clay stem
as if from a height watching ships come in.
Smoke cold as blue fungus over outside buildings
follows horses with hooves to split cobblestones
stuck in the city's eye,
more than mountains around
the stone filled ravines
of the rich man's heart.