Flaring green glass vase
of tulips
yellowed leaves turn
celadon
against the light
the renaissance perfection of
color saturated petals
progresses to mannerist decay
ghostly greens and purples
watercolor washes
sharp penciled lines
outlining curling edges
finely etched dark pistils
silhouettes
slender stems
in perfect curves
or cypress straight
translucent faded petals flutter down
aborted seeds
yet the image on the eye
may germinate
into a poem
as the leaf sprouts
from the twig
Leaving winter behind.
Erika Bizzarri 
Erika I love the details of your writing, the names of colors which spoken take on new tone— and your reading voice is as solid and yet earthen as Robert Frost… and I like the connection to your August in Italy poem…
❤️🙏 J
Sent from my iPhone
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Oh, tulips! How I love them! And in all of their phases. Especially towards the end, when gravity takes its inevitable toll. But even after the petals fall, they can still have poignant color and shape. That’s my cue to let them dry and keep them as part of my life. À propos of that, I was glad I could enlarge the photo to see the beautiful portrait of your mother—another treasured memory.
Envoyé de mon Di-Phone
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So very nice Erika – and the perfect conclusion !
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