Bay Window

Dabs of white silk insulate us from the summers sun's glow.
As I, legs akimbo   s t r e t c h   upon my bed.
Yellow sheets kicked to a hill at my feet.
The walls yellow and the winter throw too.
A petit Sri Lankan Buddha perched on the sill
clocks this summer's air.

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Lyon, London ou Brazil

Si je parle français ?
La vie à Lyon,
au Croix Rousse même.
Ici Je dessin le coeur des figures
qui me passent,
une plume à main
un piccolo à l’autre.

Ou viver no Brazil
Tomando um café e escreve em Portugues.
Minha língua dançando samba,
como bossas tropicais lavar sobre mim.
Minha alma de ouro do sol equatorial.

I sit here in passage
an architect of sand castles,
creations washed away
as I construct another.