In Exile

I am seeing this man lately
and it isn't even the 16th century,
but he speaks of tragedies and shadow plays,
paints poetry with black and white hues,
making it seem Tulips have just arrived
in the Netherlands --
bulbs drenched in butterfly monotones
and earthly destinies.

He lives near a nursery of Phloxes.
And he will be gone by tomorrow...

like bygones in a field of rustic Roses.