I have plagiarized myself to create this poem. Some of the lines come from other poems I have written.
The river tumbling south, a bluesman,
his guitar mutters to lovers under an August moon.
The sun rising, a red hand sliding up the dress,
sky blue tights over downy thighs.
Mist, water suspended, a spider stringing diamonds in the air.
The peppered sweetness of mango in curry.
The resonance of the Muezzin’s call to prayer – Azan,
the first call to a new day.
Bare feet in air-cooled grass.
The soothing swing of laundry on the line.
The final scene of La Boheme
the bittersweet beauty of death as art. . . .