Wednesday, July 2, 2008

(after Monet's Water Lilies)

For years, he watched the day change
In drops of sun against water.
He said: to be seen as the light moves,
In bursts of red, greens of summer flaming on the lawn.
In Giverny, where he found his last subject,
He caught on canvas: a river waltzing with the sun.

Light restores what time steals,
But from winter springs the loosening of desire.
Now age and night invade his eyes.
The lilies stand silent in the darkness.
The dark trees sway. Even now he sees
Fires weaving in the particles of water,
Waves of sunlight locked within the leaves.

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