|
Walled City
The dogs of Avignon
own the streets of centre-ville
and shit to show their dominance.
The sad night sky covers
half of its eye,
but cannot truly cease to peer
within the ramparts
at the dirty streets
and full cafés, the frightful
pigeons, and, most of all,
at the lordly, filthy dogs,
barbarian chieftains in their stronghold—
but, from time to time,
the champions of the air,
the clarion-sounding swimmers
of the breeze,
the mistral-riding
swifts draw
and hold
its white, cratered eye.
|
