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By Briana Kassia Date: 2002 Sep 14 Comment on this Work [[2002.09.14.13.33.18538]] |
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Name for me your favourite colours, she said, Sing to me of all your well-learned lessons, All those secrets you have heard In the perfume of night-blooming flowers. I did not know what to say: She already knew I dream in teal And dark rose And that dusty sandy black of old velveteen, cut into acanthus shapes and sandwiched with golden brocade (the romantic upholstery of Blake and Wordsworth). I was confused Because she knew what the flowers taught me. And the lessons? How can I teach her what I could only have learned from her? She has always confused me like that. |