Interpretation by Greg Baysans

Poet X, Home

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Flowers ("Fleurs")

spill down golden slides, are braided with silk cords,
grey gauze, green velvetine, fly on crystal disks black
like bronze too long in the sun -- I witness digitalis
overwhelm the carpet, a filigree of silver, eyes and
human hair.
     Drops of gold are splayed across agate tiles. Black
poles, mahogany tree trunks uphold a green planetarium
stuffed with a satin-white bouquet, ruby-fringed in a holy
circle around the Rose of Water.
     Like a god with hypnotic blue eyes and wintery embrace,
lake and sky compel a profussion on marble terraces, mobs of
strong, young buds.


by Greg Baysans