Les Nympheas
After “Les Nymphéas,” by Claude Monet

When I step back, dancing
brushstrokes find each other,
meld into flowers and leaves.
Roots and stems sway underwater
like a choir, waves churn
and beat against me,
recede, beat again,
ancient blues and greens
beckon, suck me back to mud.
Slick, I curl and uncoil,
snake through lilies,
aware of each echoing breath,
tumble down, spiral to the surface.
On shore Monet chats with God
about how atoms became dust
and water, and dust and water
became stone and grasses and snakes.

—Charles Barasch

Charles Barasch’s book of poetry, Dreams of the Presidents, was published by North Atlantic Books. He lives in Vermont with his wife, the poet Andrea Gould.