Joan

Honfleur, 1874

So.
I see their easels at the water
from the window.
I know his is not -as his is never - with them.
Seven years I've watched them sadly,
watching with them, understanding

Joan, my head hurts, my head hurts.
Joan, I must close the curtain.

They will come back in the evening.
See the way the sky is changing!
Can you see the colors?,
He would say to me.
Well, of course I see the colors.
Sea is silver, red, and white and -
No! You don't look! You don't see!
No, you don't look, you don't see.

In the squares of sun
slanted on the floor,
slanted over my feet, Joan.
This is how he painted me.
A halo round me - like Our lady!
Bathed his brush in sun
and blurred my faults away.

Joan, the sunlight! The Sunlight.
joan, I must close the curtain