kiting

image

You ground me
in this quilted city
where language falls
in syllabified streams,
alien yet musical.

I am kiting while,
below, grid worn, grooved
in traffic, time patinaed,
labyrinthine, tomb-bound and
coruscating,
maintenance crews
schedule cleanup, tourists flow
like the Seine
unbidden by routine, yet
somehow
synchronised at
monuments, squares, jardins,
fountains, musees, cafes,
canals et
Metros…

Back in our
Montmartre retreat –
whitewalled,
monastic – you
prepare dinner, make
tea, write shopping
lists, wash clothes
and smile at my fumbling
attempts to calibrate
in words &
images what is
mapped, but
unknowable.

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