Cliffbound
He resides most nights
In a puddle of parables.
Some sun, some sea,
Occasionally luminous,
Others Plutonian if not
Downright numinous.
He rolls over
Remembering cliffs
Along the Adriatic~Jadransko Mare~
The Croats call it
And how his mate
Had hope to sail
One day to Venice.
She never did
But hopped a midnight train
For Istanbul instead.
Now she sleeps along the Bosporus
Where huge freighters
Have their way
With her, how they keep
Plunging through her dreams,
Foghorns rippling
Across black sea
Where Asia wrestles Europe,
Uncertain if they’ll ever marry.
And the man she left?
Well, he’s
Still sitting, waiting
High up and
Bleary-eyed
On those lofty cliffs
Wondering from his perch
If Venice
Is underwater yet
As it lurches
Towards the future.
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