La Nouvelle- Orléans
un petite poem
We're walking down that sens unique . . .
an arteriole branching labyrinthine out, sentinel gas lamps lit.
His terse Victorian step persists, a metronome
past darkened cabarets and shuttered bars,
past a lemon tree and hosts of banana leaves.
And the stones crumble languid beneath the weeds—fugitives from darkened fissures.
But a florescence has happened in the lazar's cadaver;
Insistent carnations blossom
and we feed on chicory & cane.
Though the walls are taciturn as live oak always,
creeping, supple vines wrought our synapses, a renovation.
And then we saw:
Dim and ember beneath climbing vines that cling rests still an incandescent nest
where the spectre of a whip-poor-will lives,
a mass of feathers and petals, thatched of thorns & leaves
that trills anti-diluvian verities,
prehistoric knowings of a thing:
That our bones are become boughs
this body a verdant thing.
a lyric photo essay by Beth Kirby
For a travel guide to N e w O r l e a n s visit http://localmilkblog.com/2014/07/wander-guide-new-orleans.html
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