On a car journey in France, May 1999
Suddenly, in the heat,
poppies!
An abundance of red pushing through the
field and headlands
where the ploughs had
turned the soil.
They bordered our
road to Sugeres
by way of summer –
shuttered villages
Claude Monet
is conjured up,
complete with canvas,
deep in the smell and rustle
of dry summer grasses,
the hum of bees,
the ticking of insects,
painting red,
a celebration of red;
a shout of wild poppies
in the yellowed grass.
Were his unclouded
eyes dazzled
by the brilliance
near Argenteuil,
his senses
intoxicated
as ours were?