Al Fresco Cafe Poems #185

AL FRESCO CAFÉ POEM #185

RENATA’S POEM: THE BIRTH OF THE AUTHOR #23


In the tenor’s
High C’s
The fire escape was found

Our hands had already been burned

My ashes caressed her ashes, or what is
Her ashes caressed my ashes.

In the intermission lobby where we stood
Hung a painting of a pastoral scene.

Our love left specks of ashes on the rug
With threads
That were a cracked white vase with roses.

With self
Timer
Many photos
Of our ashes on the

Roses

And many many many
Photos of the

fire escape*

*This is a late poem of Renata’s shoe period.


Duane Locke

Posted over on The Hold