For M.
“Etch me in black and white.
Describe me as a jet mark
Fixed on a straight horizon.
Pierce me with a wide arc,
One curving line, to show
Wind swept down from a cold sky,
Back into withering height.
Make it a winter scene,
The ground a vacant space,
White, for an ice plateau.
Have nothing else, no trace
Of color and no breath
Of angry, secret life.
Omit the diamond spark
Veiled in the human eye.
Nor will you hint of death.
Do not suggest the stiff dark
Compact men who lie
In ichor-bleeding cliffs,
Silent and sweet, that stretch
Beneath this vacant snow.
Caricature me so.
Scratch your personal mark
In the corner. But the sketch
I want simple, and stark.”
Caricature of Felice Ricarro
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