BENEATH THE SHATTERING SUN

Mason House front balcony

 

This is nowhere near, no—

This is nothing like the place

Where flowers spill…

Or people,

Like ourselves,

Might take chances.

 

This is a long way off

From days

That need water so desperately;

From the beautiful women

With their knotted hair

Burnt black by centuries.

 

Their ears were looped with gold.

Their talk like chimes

In a breeze—

A breeze that leaves 

The heated streets

And seeks shelter

In a shaded hallway,

Coral and cold.

 

Outside in the day,

Between common clay walls,

Was a morning for the magician.

A boy begged to shine

The shoes of the crowd.

And above, doves cooed,

Then flew.
[From the Along the Gulf series]

 

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