Just behind-- to one side of this koten canvas-- & reared up from base to top is a shady dome receding through the haijin’s Art: with fleet scrollwork of a poet’s painting loosened round the prows or scattered wide over canal's gilt ether wash--
a sole skiff ( or pedalo!) al sole, too And gold moneta streams glimmer in a line from a jacinth sun (shot at eye-level!) to the opposite beaches--
& to the abyssal pink shadows of byzantine domes & ducal porches Drag a dank blue brush across her, compounded of ash, water, & other lines of flight & will the seer in you make poles darker?
And will the gulls, in hidden calli, and the face of gaping prisons look any more rostrate?
And look! minarets will rise up, too, for haiku and Dantean rima