Holland is a dream, Monsieur, a dream of gold
and smoke
Albert Camus, The Fall

I still see you as you rose
those mornings,
light falling gently
on your lean limbs.
We drove through tulip fields,
a patchwork of surreal orange,
yellow, green, purple, red—
a countryside better suited
to a dream.

At Christmas an amaryllis
arrives at my door.
A surprising flower—
it breaks the soil.
A shaft rising to its full height
tense with byways
of waiting—
an epiphany coming—
with all the colors
of memory,
with all the colors
of you.