This was named for a painter, for a painting by Matisse.
I used to be a painter, and it's still very close to my heart.
I was a terrible painter, but I miss it very much.
And some of my poetry comes out of that strain
in The Blue Nude.
Please take this shy Spanish girl,
whom they say you resemble, and ride with her.
Here are the field poppies damaged by night.
Here are your blue slumber, your horse.
Take this prayer, which you must surrender in order
to understand as in moments when you are reduced to the truth.
When you are ready, the beasts will be there.
Let silence go through your heart.
The mild horse, your blue one already stirring toward morning
where it will be white.