1. scent of drowsy-sweet lilac, and salt on my lips. a sailor’s arms, covered in sinking ships, black ink schooners, and furious sea monsters wrapping tentacled arms around his wrists. the sea and the stars move in measured procession, a whispering idea, in a walled garden. each contrived celestial oscillation, just a note in a plunging eternal rhythm.
the sun followed me to where apollo, with his lyre, stood guard over the old market square. magnolia stellata, wrapped in white paper, confetti collecting in the cracks between cobblestones. stary rynek, the edge of springtime. and i watched, as the morning sky, which had been morphidae (i mean to say it was black at the edges) broke into a dawn that spilt ribbons of light like they were blue silk caught in the wind. and there were pale sunbeams pouring, over this silver, silent, world.
under a cupola and a willow tree i watch whispering couples holding hands and walking quietly around cloister gardens. all i can hear is the sound of the wind, and from time to time, sunday service cathedral choirs singing latin hymns, or else chanting their sacred devotions, under starry vaults and sails. for a moment, i’m crying, it’s surprising. in the courtyard, the cherry plums are small, and crooked, sharp branches sparkling with sap, like frosted sugar crystals, petals as snow.