Tessellations

 

LVII

Albert Cuyp’s Dordrecht—
with its better-than-well-
fed figures, uneasy in clothes,
his how-shall-we-call-them
cows, all muscle and intestine,
wind-forced sail for frame—

and Ashbery’s sidereal, filmstrip-paced
deconstruction of Delft, with its
brick-stacking, wait-and-see Godoting,
everyone doing something—however
reminiscent, revisionist, or just plain
ineffectual—about the weather.