Cezannes atelier in Aix en Provence overflows with poems that haven't yet found homes in the black and white medium of words..how to entrap the tart acid green of apple? the configuration of his brushes and tools laid beside thick even greener bottles ..worn black hats on pegs and his last almost empty wine glass...? How to write three skulls against a rough bone coloured plaster wall with the smell of candle wax and oil paint in the air? it will always fail...so I don't...yet..