Oops! I posted this over at PFFA and forgot to post it here as well.
The Thames, lithotint, 1896
The river reflects a watery light,
diffused through fog and coalsmoke.
On his balcony at the Savoy,
Whistler brushes tusche onto limestone,
trying to catch the greys of stone and water
in a wash of grease and lampblack.
His wife lies on the couch inside
in a restless opium sleep. Her skin is pale
and her eyes are smudged with shadows.
The cancer eats away at her.
One by one, the gaslights flicker on.
Hansoms clop on the Enbankment.
Whistler works to differentiate
the shades between dark and light.
