The spilling Sun

dropped its hot

peelings in the sea
splashing sighs

up into iridescent

clouds
stinging like burnt

petals,
and I stood

on the tired ridge

hovering over

Marseilles
venturing to read

all the roads

uttered
in the the sky’s

fading palm.
And the night

kneeled down

on the sand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Photo: Doreen Dee