13 June 2008


619
People line the counter for their breads and salads.
Florescence of Brie. Of olive.
In the humid afternoon the brick edge makes a triangle of garden shade.
Two starlings slowly pace.
The distant highway serves as partner to the silence.
Dust motes cross the shaft.
Yuri's last mask possessed: blind despairing reason.
Three weeks left.
In the Station den Haag the people look; they face in all directions.
Love, I need.

4 comments:

backpakker said...

nice imagery..good to read your poems after a while

L

mark said...

thanks L...I guess you are back?...always moving, i know

shooting star said...

nice pic..!!! and lovely poetry...

mark said...

thanks ss