If I said—remembering in summer,
The cardinal’s sudden smudge of red
In the bare gray winter woods—
If I said, red ribbon on the cocked straw hat
Of the girl with pooched-out lips
Dangling a wiry lapdog
In the painting by Renoir—
If I said fire, if I said blood welling from a cut—
Or flecks of poppy in the tar-grass scented summer air
On a wind-struck hillside outside Fano—
If I said, her one red earring tugging at her silky lobe,
If she tells fortunes with a deck of fallen leaves
Until it comes out right—
Rouged nipple, mouth—
(How could you not love a woman
Who cheats at the Tarot?)
Red, I said. Sudden, red.