Walking in the silvery drizzle at midnight, no umbrella
soaked to the skin,
nerves torn open, the city slashed away
by glares diamonds seafoam cathedral spires half-veiled
outcries,the quivering semblances
of people. They pass through me in a heave of mists, dark sultry
shapes floating on rhythms of whispering white echoes.
They pass through me like blackbirds
through a mulberry forest at dusk, carrying with them whistling
air brakes and the throne
of Saturn, a nausea of soaked flowers.
Walking in the silvery drizzle at midnight,
gaslamps hurling halos
of color on wet cobblestones, slender pitches of fog
lifting along the vanishing alleyways,
a quartz clock glowing in a window murmuring Hebrew
psalms and drinking up shadow.
And the people
they pass through me, glancing spirits
like the last refrains of a dissolving
orchestra, their eyes lips hearts kidneys trachea bones
eaten by imaginary
water-maggots and gone up into syllables
of diaphanous cloud.
Walking along in a blur
of whirling color,
past second-hand shops, a Kurdish brothel with shuttered
windows and the front door open,
and now the hour comes down.
Merlin tunes his instruments. Enchanted skewers
light glitter off the hood of a Ford Capri Turbo. Egyptian cobras
and golden zucchini
sing in the Chamber of Amazia.
And the people they pass through me.