This is a year of poppies: our land
was brimming with them as May burned
into June and I returned—
a sweet dark wine that made me drunk.
From clouds of mulberry to grains to grasses
ripeness was all, in the fitting
heat, in the slow drowsiness spreading
through the universe of green.A. Bertolucci
Poppies are flowering in my garden…every year I paint them in one form or another…Watercolour on Arches Not Paper..