February 24, 1993|By Ellen Kirvin Dudis

in the Impressionist manner

This is light's playground. Its recess. The waves'

small fists open and shut, Hello! Bye-bye!

Set foot here, they bangle your ankles like slaves,

play monkey-in-the-middle with your eyes,

dress up in shallow commotions of goose-

flesh, then scatter flat out the way they've been taught

since day one, whenever the wind breaks loose

from the dunes and whistles them down. Food for thought

at an easel: little by little Monet

accumulates the instantaneous,

daubing, deepening his crimsons -- it may

take him weeks to do what the painting does

in no time at all. Waves flash seagull V's

of light. The playground is eternity's.

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