In his scarlet cap, and gossamer shoes, Henry drifted nights through the pond's silvery light, his flute charming fish, whose "faint jerk" on his line linked him with the world "I go a-fishing in." Cézanne is asking himself how exactly he feels about this rock, this cloud, this apple. With paths to the mountains revised by atmospheric rivers, in dreams he ascends: the poet who climbed past "the limit of what art can attain."