The spring bouquet is arranged in a clear glass
vase
filled
to within an inch of the top with water,
but
the white daisy petals with yellow hearts
are
the ones that steal the show.
For
reasons unknown, the artist posed these nude models
on
a plain but polished wooden table in front of a window,
sash down, with only a few saplings,
a
green lawn, and a humble garden as the backstory
for
this silent poem in raised oil strokes.
The
picture hangs on a wall opposite another window, tall,
where
the sun is free to nurture this born-again cliché.
What
no one notices is that the painted flowers, all as one,
sway
left to right as they follow the path of the sun,
swallowing
each ray as their daily bread,
and
whether they follow the sun that the painter has implied
or
the one that brushes the tall window with yellow strokes
is
unknown to all but the mystery of art that is reality squared.
Outshining
Solomon, the lilies of the field follow the rhythm of prayer.
One
can only wonder at the cataracts of the mind, of eyes
that
pass this still life every day, blind to its soul and secret hope.
~William Hammett
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