iv.

Outside, atop the old oak trees
where pairs of birds nest for many years,
a speckled egg tips, falls, and flees
to land in grass, still whole, still here.

✋🏼🧵

iii.

Beneath the streets, beer halls of brick:
they parley, preen, dress to the nines;
a verbal joust — no lance, pinpricks
to test if other’s heart may rhyme.

🧵👇🏼

ii.

in restaurants and dim nightclubs,
a furtive glance and sensual sighs
speak courtship: spoken friction rubs —
new lovers’ truths in small white lies.

🧵👇🏼

Thank you! 🙏🏼

iii.

As I stand there, not half awake,
the ocean-sky’s waves crash, divine —
and on the crest of clouds they take
this ghostly ship and make it mine.

✋🏼🧵

ii.

The belvedere peeks through the green,
stone vessel held in sylvan sway:
its quiet presence moored beneath
the restless clouds that rule the day.

I start to feel it lift from stone,
tall ship that waits for winds to rise,
its galleries a foredeck borne
by time that folds into the skies.

🧵👇🏼

iv.

There in the dark of the tunnel’s pathway,
I take my photograph from the drying line
and airbrush in a vast hub to say
that no matter the pic, my fate is mine.

✋🏼🧵

iii.

holds it there and I climb aboard.
No passengers here. It’s not a memory
that I'd choose to keep. It drives me toward
its last stop. Though it moves, it’s not free.

🧵👇🏼

ii.

As the red tram screeches through the gloom,
its blue-white lights pushing back the black,
the image develops in my mind’s darkroom,
in brain chemicals held fast. The track

🧵👇🏼

❓

ii.

in each starless eclipse felt
in night skies of my soul,
where bright memories melt
into my inward Sheol.

The mystery of faith
within black thoughts of mine:
that’s when my Jesus saith
I have my brush with the divine.

✋🏼🧵

Thank you! 🙏🏼☺️

iv.

The heavens release a growing downpour,
the old church finds itself baptized
from the cracks in its roof to marbled floor —
washing away sin before it’s eulogized.

✋🏼🧵

iii.

Above the Virgin and the crumbling church,
above the curved dome rising high,
the clouds spill rain from their morning perch,
dripping down into stone roof’s blue sky.

🧵👇🏼

ii.

Just beyond her, the high Baroque dome,
a domus Dei with its own painted heavens,
once filled with prayer, stands empty, alone —
its great mass now in silence unleavened.

🧵👇🏼

iv.

And in snowdrifts of ticking dreams,
the starry vault fills ’til the new day —
this ancient clock tells time between
our mortal world and worlds away.

✋🏼🧵