From a Chateau in Bordeaux
Red the roses at the end of vineyard rows
Revered in Gothic symmetry, translucent
scarlet and sky blue your petals and sepals
flower of Aphrodite and the virgin.
Watch flower of the vine
from grafted shoots to budbreak, the fruit
caressed and pruned through summer bloom
warmed in autumn by smudge pots among the vines.
Perfumed promise, protector of vine and vein
where flows the wine darker than blood spill
Sensitive to afflictions of the vine
your own blight an early warning
Flower and thorn suffer alike, the black rot
Omen of your own sacrifice.
The Nude
Figure drawing class, France
It is the delicate features;
Nose and mouth and brows
Which the artist sees.
The model, naked
wears a studied malaise
larger than life, she is “full”
a kind word.
Look at her fingers,
The artist says,
beautiful and the wisps of curl
about her face, beautiful
breasts full to her waist
if one could see
the waist in her folds.
The artist does not see the scar;
the nude has had her stomach
shrunken(for a short time
as these things seem to go)
the folds of flesh cascade to
thighs larger than two of mine,
each.
The artist says
try a wash, fill it with color,
you see the design
there on her robe interesting, no?
Negative space,
the turn of her neck,
the angle of her chin.
Five minute poses
like a poem, no?
the artist says
a new pose
the figure turns away
arms thrown up, head tilted
bold angle and arc of her back
draw the eye
to light at play with the dark twist of her neck
to form lines thick and thin in turn
flow across the page
the back a soft milk white roundness
the texture of the nude
her arms swing down
and a slender finger tip dips just so
toward the dusk silk pillow on the floor.
