Rain on the windows paints calligraphy on his walls—
He recites verses
to music playing
where pear flower stars burst forth
in the multicolored bowl on his kitchen table
where he once compared nature with artifice
and made love to the girl with ornamental hair
That’s what happens, she says to him now, when tradition
and art
are sacrificed
for the preservation of book pressed flowers
That last stanza hits like a hammer! 🔨👍
It is one of my favorites, from the heart.