The cicadas already
conduct the sound of the day.
Early conversation in a garden
with olive trees and a view
towards the Mediterranean.
The optimism you had -
being an old man
with crippling arthritis -
for life, health,
the beauty and vigour it could afford.
Inside the house your studio
with armchair, easel,
brushes and frames,
the quiet edges of the room.
The hushed strokes of passing
time, the depth of eye
as figures walk by
flooded in red-golden light,
the sensuality touching
a disclosure of heat.
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