Snakes Across Monet's Last Lilies
Memory, the circled snake
is a hoop that binds
the rolling barrel even as
it smashes on the rocks.
Love I tell you
is a grape that's dried
into a raisin, twice as sweet
but nothing like it was.
Everything is shining
with a light of blurs and halos,
each pinhole star enlarged
and yet more vague;
a wash of blue-green shadow
floating fingered bolls of cotton,
meant for water, gardens, lilies:
all Monet's last brush, blind color on
the ghostly dregs of form.
So time has had its way
with these and every thing
a wrecking that becomes uncertain rapture
for every shape that's salvaged
for every bird-note sharpened,
pulled loose in one fuzzed-peach
piece from dawn
at our feet.
Images: Water Lilies, 1899, by Claude Monet
Water Lily Pond, Evening, 1926, by Claude Monet
Public Domain via wikiart.org