Marseille

Beaten, bled in thundering summer morning,
Legume-flower-lavender sheets absorbing
Desktop dust, your ghost is a voilier storming
Bride of the weather.

Piled on bullet-riddled Phoenician harbor
Catacombs, the chapels in rockwork ardor
Shadow broken Vieux Port hotels, a bartered
Language and calyx.

Heroine, your dampness and odor linger,
Follow through the Bourse and its moonlit supper
Toward this café battlement’s hopeless-fingered
Skeleton awnings.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: