Wine that tasted of first freedom
From silver that we kept, and
Now I keep silver in.
The heady scent of violets, shops
Tongue tied nerve bubbles,
New and dangerous responsibility
Perfect blue sky that scorched
The photographs of the steep hill
With its murky glass coke bottle café, church
And the crypt where I wouldn’t kiss you.
Place du Canard
(Burnt Umber; duck à l’orange)
Too rich chocolate crepes
White orange blossom
A displacement of everything.
Grape presses and purple-footed tormentors.
Bubble-gum pop, my first asparagus.
Glass cases over dusty flowers
Worn left or right to denote belonging.
Photographs of ducks and the boy in the park
And in my mind, the boy in the road.
Ancient audio described straw and twigs
Unheeded in the mud and linked hands.
Motorway service stations, busses
And heads and chests.