Portrait of the Mad Scientist's Wife
The design is inconsistent:
rooted at one level in the painter's art,
and at another, in the product of my admirable
Each time that I return
she haunts me in the frame.
There she stands, brightly shining,
within a sullen glow of apocalypse.
Dirge light! Nowhere can I hear her sweet singing.
Her silent voice condemns me not, but
thus ends self-recrimination;
tonight, I bring thinner and a heavy brush.
Alarms disarmed, my arm is armed
I'll not look upon her gentle,
I must have peace: I have not slept a wink
since you were framed.
Goodbye, my love.
You were faithful in your heart, at least,
as I was not; my mistress
only was that vixen science,
with whom I sleep and wake.
Fare well. I pray
(or would, were there a god)
that one day I can
forgive myself as you have done.