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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