half-written poems (Lisbon).

The city is ripe

with broad-

shouldered

lights
and they carry me

like treading water,

as they spread.
They blow

on my face

and I flicker,
watching them

sew
the night

into the waves’ hum

and half written

poems,
on the heights

above Lisbon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

______________

12096548_172051216469499_6051891195268559419_n11

Photo: Doreen Dee

 

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