sheep, rooster, duck
September 19, 1783
versailles, its park, all still half asleep,
when from its orbit the balloon floats clear
away. thus claim all historical docs.
no parliament, no riot, just folk –
and his majesty, surrounded by the sweep
of counts, the mistress, and the master
with his telescope, in which the round cup
of the lens hovers. and with one hack
the rope is severed – should it foster
our memorial, that what passed here
by the weathercock will never sleep?
a ball of silk trundling in the hook
of wind, vanishing over barges tossed here,
our subjects sheep and rooster and duck
in their basket barely audible, not a peep
from any one of them. in god’s blue sack,
only pigments, nothing more. and now the rooster
comes, the duck, and finally the sheep.
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