| Current mood: |  drained |
arrival
sky deep blue to light blue
over grey
the taxi leaves, tires
squealing on wet cobblestones
As we walk,
morning opens over L'viv
like flowers blooming between
cracks
in the sidewalk
glimpses of color poke out
between grey churches, blue green steeples
Lawrence Durrell's "rosy-fingered dawn" if you will
Chris kneels to pluck a blossom
out of its nest
offers it to an old woman passing by
she doesn't notice
keeps walking
shopping bag knocking against her legs
in rhythm
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