sphere of pillowed sky
one faceless gathering of blue...
… I’m tethered, and devoted
to your raw and lonely bloom
my lavish need to drink
your world of crowded cups to fill.
~Tara Bray “hydrangea” from Image Journal
Like in old cans of paint the last green hue,
these leaves are sere and rough and dull-complected
behind the blossom clusters in which blue
is not so much displayed as it’s reflected;
They do reflect it imprecise and teary,
as though they’d rather have it go away,
and just like faded, once blue stationery,
they’re tinged with yellow, violet and gray;
As in an often laundered children’s smock,
cast off, its usefulness now all but over,
one senses running down a small life’s clock.
Yet suddenly the blue revives, it seems,
and in among these clusters one discovers
a tender blue rejoicing in the green.
~Rainer Maria Rilke “Blue Hydrangea” Translation by Bernhard Frank
Dwelling within a mosaic of dying colors,
these petals fold and collapse
under the weight of the sky’s tears.
This hydrangea bears a rainbow of hues,
once-vibrant promises of blue
now fading to rusts and grays.
I know what this is like:
the running out of the clock,
feeling the limits of vitality.
Withering and drying,
I’m drawn, thirsty for the beauty,
to this waning artist’s palette.
To quench my thirst:
from an open cup, an invitation,
an everlasting visual sacrament.