Poem of the Week

2. The Realm of Light

—René Magritte

The picture in the picture window shows

a poplar, is it, a house calm and clear

at dawn or dusk, a lamp post’s yellow light

abuzz on shutters and a shivering pond.

Poplar and roof aspire though, point beyond

the upstairs reading lamp to another sphere

where, behind deckled leaves, pacific rows

of cloud file slowly past, serenely white.

It must be dusk, with the light almost gone,

but view this picture with extreme distrust

since what you see is the trompe-l’oeil of dream.

It might be dusk, with the house almost dead;

or is there somebody getting out of bed,

the exhausted street light anxious for a rest,

birds waking in the trees, the clouds astream

in an invisible breeze? It must be dawn.