(no subject)
Give me your smile in your green silk dress.
Be my Camille.
Again and again I will render my impressions:
Lively in your cherry-red kimono, unfurling your fan,
or beneath the clouds, under the parasol, behind your veil.
Or marching through the parade of poppies,
once, twice, by the time I am finished.
By the tree, turn towards me and away,
sit beneath it with a book
or stand, bashful behind the bouquet from the garden,
any way you wish, it does not matter.
All of the women in the painting are you.
Always you.
Be my Camille.
Again and again I will render my impressions:
Lively in your cherry-red kimono, unfurling your fan,
or beneath the clouds, under the parasol, behind your veil.
Or marching through the parade of poppies,
once, twice, by the time I am finished.
By the tree, turn towards me and away,
sit beneath it with a book
or stand, bashful behind the bouquet from the garden,
any way you wish, it does not matter.
All of the women in the painting are you.
Always you.