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JOSEF LESSER
More than Water Lilies
(for Monet)
Ophelia too has come to swim these waters,
braiding flowers through teenage hair
humming her heart to the Danish prince
hoping to find in this refraction of light and life
her lost summer in the sun, a sanctuary from madness
a private shrine within these consecrated brush-strokes.
Here beside the pool in the shade of the blue
where water and lilies mauve with the breeze
another sings; 'Lilac my lover wears, tangerine silk'.
Aphrodite voicing Adonis in her mind.
Willows weep the weep of joy, that universal bliss
lovers weave like confetti spells sprinkled on the grass.
Reflecting sun-toes tripping light as wings, changing
scenes from moving film alive upon the waters.
A bridge, a lake, chromatic sails of plants of faith
of seasons of the self expressed with fork and spade.
This gardener knew the natural heartbeat of the soil
the touch required to stimulate bamboo, the blossom
the iris and lily pads. Knew the secret of the clouds
wisps of coloured cotton dancing on the pond.
Here is peace and calm from a dysfunctional world
created by vision through a deepening mist.
Immortal in the pigment of his eye.
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