Tropical Courtyard
It is a rage against geometry;
The spiked fans of the palmetto arcing
Like improvised brushstrokes in the light breeze;
Late shadowplay, somewhere a dog barking.
Against the height of new and old brick walls,
Confounding stone, transplanted pine and palm
Lift in imperfection, as heavy bells
That would force order fade into the calm
Of azure and a faint scent of musk.
(Is it eucalyptus or just the past?)
There's nothing in this warm, vegetal dusk
That is not beautiful or that will last.
The following works were selected from The Last Nostalgia...
The Ohio | Death in Orange County | Photograph: Being Sad | Your Shadow | To a Woman Passing By | Adult Situations | Tropical Courtyard | Page
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