Water lily melon, anoxic, cool decay.
Pleasant, foul, I wander into dawn and see a face.
Sky-pink contours catch the concrete; ocean smokestack heat,
Sea and cinder mix their palette; salt-stained walls of Crete.
Opaque cloud, she wanders through the artificial light,
Not far away, but by the sea, ghost lilac lost in white.
Soon she will flutter, far from sea, a daydream’s finite flight.
From ocean foam, away, the floral wisp will flee the night. To warp her light, a withered hand creeps, almost within reach To try and crack her comely face, not God’s own factory.
Still peace may come, imperfect splendor, flight may not need be.
Smokewashed steel and skylit blush; a blurred trajectory,
May mix with ocean wind to weave a fractured seagreen wreath,
To make a medley sweet and acrid; let us rasp and breathe.
Keeps on rising; dawn come rise, until her face is free.
Keep on rising; dawn—night violet’s pale periphery.
Ashen pools of ink beyond the soapy, washen sea,
Concrete towers, rising up, go join her pink-blue dream.
But don’t dream far, don’t fade away; anoxic, melon breeze,
Don’t go away, but fall asleep, between two factories.
