Untitled #181
there is spring sooth blossomed
all around Parsival's grave.
that solemn place amidst the grove
where winter still tears inside us
and a shade of what was lay broken
staring at the scene.
ravishing pinks like kissing
whites pure, true and bold
held out like the last snows.
against sudden emeralds dancing with the sun.
but I, like a dull and gray fool
stumbling upon that blessed chapel
see the paintings and do not see.
know there is beauty all around
but have only left red and black.