by Felipe Alvarez de Toledo

The Syrian trees are speckled with apples,
And you see shades of green and white;
Through the leaves
Spills yellow light.

You feel Impressionist,
Under the eaves
Of a train station flooded with light
Reflected in paint;

Hall through hall,
You see the mottled colours prance
Of a Pissarro or Dancing Degas,
Monet or Manet or Cezanne,

And then Toulouse-Lautrec shows you the night
Of cabaret and caricatures
Composed of lines and light,

And now you are back in an orchard,
Travelling in a car, misplaced,
And the sun shines, through the leaves of trees,
And dances on your face.