Nicholas Samaras

Among the Red and Yellow Tulips of Boston Common

This is a man in black, speaking to the air around him
as he strides through vivid stalks and flamed blossoms.
This is the world that will always pretend not to see him
as he weaves through, still touching everything vital,
the world receding behind him into its own business.
His is a grey breath of inhalation through a broken mouth.
He is a man whose mouth is lost in the greyness of his beard.
He is a man who bites down and vanishes.
This is a world of colour that is colour when seen.
He is a man who always wakes to lightness again.
This is the lucid morning that goes on with or without notice.
He is a fine leather wallet from Vienna. He is the worn
and cherished photographs, holding their smiles in the plastic leaves.
This is the coloured world that wears away.
This is the whisper that keeps the rare world going.
This is a man in black speaking to the air.

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Nicholas Samaras is from Patmos, Greece (the “Island of the Apocalypse”) and, at the time of the political Greek Junta (“Coup of the Generals”) was brought in exile to be raised further in America. He has lived in Greece, Asia Minor, England, Wales, Brussels, Switzerland, Italy, Austria, Germany, Yugoslavia, Jerusalem, thirteen states in America and he writes from a place of permanent exile. Currently, he is writing a poetry textbook, and critiques client-poetry by appointment.