IN ROBERT'S GARDEN

Photo by S. Auberle

IN ROBERT'S GARDEN

How it is with art and lovers:

sometimes you wash the canvas clean,

erase the words, the image, the touch

begin anew your life.

Here is where it bloomed,

Robert's garden,

his mother lode of joy,

here a man and woman stood

on  a summer day like this,

astonished by the sex

blazing out of Robert's flowers

lost in the music between them.

She remembers flagrant peonies,

bees, heavy with nectar.

He remembers her,

suffused with heat and blossom scent.

There are some who remember

Robert's paintings of the black rose,

how he finished the last,

wiped his canvas clean and left.

Maybe this is how we begin and end:

speaking the language of flowers.

~  mimi

first published in Crow Ink, 2009 by Little Eagle Press