Still Life

sputters with a verse by Gaston Bachelard:
Every dreamer of fire is a powerful poet.
With the fingers of my left hand I clutch the candle holder and behold,
the candle holder bloomed in three boughs.
But in my room I did not see even the shadow of the wisdom, of the strength, of beauty.
I see: From the dead corpse of the dog toward the sky straw hovers
and up high a great dog-rose is blooming.