It's like when you look through the windows in an old Dutch gambrel
The lumpy windows that were made by actual people back when a glazier was a kind of artist
His hands rough and his glass smooth, his neck oily and refracting light
Showing you how he saw the world and you looked out every morning through his lens
To see the world the way he saw it,
Which was lumpy. Or like how as you get older your eyes change
Everything changes but your eyes turn yellowish,
The lens it is that turns yellow and hard like glass,
And old women turn their hair purple to counteract the yellowing,
The royal purple of the Imperatrix tempus temporis,
Purple being the opposite of Werther's fatal yellow breeches
As Goethe instructively diagrammed for his patient friends.
I haven't criticized any projects; I came out and spoke in favor of these
And the others as well--my world turns yellow like yours, we all soak together in time,
The last soft tortilla fragments basking in the lumpy salsa bowl.