THE FALL, AFTER VAN GOES
I resemble everyone
but myself
A. K. Ramunujan
You sit there, content in your hardened oils,
Savoring this moment amongst shifting hills,
A story waiting, lurking in the diptych.
Two nudes, oaken: a he and a she,
Placid cenotaphs under tree’s shade –
Her left arm, glossing its trunk,
Reaches into a leafy sky, grasping;
The man, gaze fixed on her,
Searches for a word beyond the Iris,
Virginal, that, only you, mysterioso,
Can pronounce.
Sean Bugg
