Paul Cézanne

He strove to see the world
without a memory,
paring nature to its anatomy
and then refleshing it
to perfect form
in which his feeling lingers
like a fragrance.

His colours make images
that have felt rain
and seen the sun rise,
looking as the blind
would feel them,
his gardener in cool flames
from a fragmenting sun.

A master in chains
to the innocent
thoughts of his eyes,
in his landscapes every
instrument is playing,
Edens without mankind,
the occasional road empty.