I think I know this scene.
Boulders clutched by roots,
and the smooth trunks bent
around granite contours
by weather and the immeasurable
growth of rock.
Long green brush-strokes
convey a season’s yield of grasses.
If I looked away – say,
out the window
at my parceled acres
and the newly fallen pine –
and then if I looked back,
how much longer
would those brush-strokes be?
What new shadows,
what graceful bending tree
might have fallen?
Would someone
dreaming a different landscape
have come to drive the first
fencepost?
Would the barb-wire
already be strung?
Taylor Graham, California, USA
3 comments:
This is a wonderful, quietly powerful poem.
I'm a painter, this poem is a fine painting. Treat to my ears to see those sights, especially the landscape in combination with the interior, very personal.
A powerful poem indeed, and one which conveys the ideas within Cezanne's paintings beautifully...
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