Les Boutons D'or
Vines grow up the impression of walls
stucco white and twinkling with beads of light
your eyes of stars and blackest sky kiss the night
the arc of time and the old house of dew alive
your lips reflecting the blossom of endless white bulbs
the trees have been here for hundreds of years
but you and I are here tonight an ocean and see away
from home brush strokes paint the story of your smile
a memory of many pasts, the canvas over my heart
Showing posts with label france. Show all posts
Showing posts with label france. Show all posts
Friday, March 27, 2020
Thursday, March 26, 2020
IV
the Vegetable Alibi
It looked like my rucksack
in an alleyway
but in Gap, France
mildewed green canvas
hand sewn patches
it slouched against a medieval stonewall
two Provencal cops hitch up their
heavy lead pants
interrogating the
owner of the bag about a head of lettuce
in his hands
how could he be eating such
valuable produce?
was it stolen?
your tattoos were backed by the Cote dAzur
they were here to give you
a hard time sadly
your lettuce had an alibi
the market next door vouched for your
ownership
the cops tugged on their bullet proof
detective skill, 'don't be here when we get back,'
they said,
merci
you pulled sadly at your beard
to the rhythm of their footsteps hiked
bag onto shoulder
its empty stomach sagging--
c'est bon c'est bon c'est bon
--to forage for another stretch of pavement
in another sunless alley
in this decayed
somewhere
It looked like my rucksack
in an alleyway
but in Gap, France
mildewed green canvas
hand sewn patches
it slouched against a medieval stonewall
two Provencal cops hitch up their
heavy lead pants
interrogating the
owner of the bag about a head of lettuce
in his hands
how could he be eating such
valuable produce?
was it stolen?
your tattoos were backed by the Cote dAzur
they were here to give you
a hard time sadly
your lettuce had an alibi
the market next door vouched for your
ownership
the cops tugged on their bullet proof
detective skill, 'don't be here when we get back,'
they said,
merci
you pulled sadly at your beard
to the rhythm of their footsteps hiked
bag onto shoulder
its empty stomach sagging--
c'est bon c'est bon c'est bon
--to forage for another stretch of pavement
in another sunless alley
in this decayed
somewhere
III
the Med. at noon
After eating sardines
at a cafe along the beach--
the salty breath
of the sea
the salty fish scales
fish bones
old world bones float on
--dip into
gentle rolling waves
a sea somewhat thicker and heavy
after lunch
lurching blue waves
saltier than I would have
imagined
After eating sardines
at a cafe along the beach--
the salty breath
of the sea
the salty fish scales
fish bones
old world bones float on
--dip into
gentle rolling waves
a sea somewhat thicker and heavy
after lunch
lurching blue waves
saltier than I would have
imagined
II
Alps
What of me is part of this old world?
sleeping
beside me in the car
my wife
she is growing
inside her
beside me
my son is growing
there is not a piece of me here
these mountains are strangers
they have lost me long ago
my ancestors
divorced you
I go forward through your passes
they are like scarred tombs
crossing the Alps I see
I am something new
even with your stony ancient glare
you could not know
me
What of me is part of this old world?
sleeping
beside me in the car
my wife
she is growing
inside her
beside me
my son is growing
there is not a piece of me here
these mountains are strangers
they have lost me long ago
my ancestors
divorced you
I go forward through your passes
they are like scarred tombs
crossing the Alps I see
I am something new
even with your stony ancient glare
you could not know
me
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