THOUGHTS ON CÉZANNE

IN HIS OLD AGE

 

I could take in boarders

breakfast on crusts and water

drag sore knees and a jointed

German easel to the

rutted ridge near an

undistinguished hump

of brooding rock, painted

again and again;

 

grow my beard wild as abandoned fields

if crazed suits and pronouncements

came with that fierce cool gaze

caressing with infinite tenderness

the golden skin

of a perfectly

ordinary

peach.




Version first published in The Federal Poet, Vol. LXIII No. 2 (Fall 2015)