I have my camera ready but
cannot photograph the sound
of this marble sky cracking.
Ribs of lightning slash
the dawn's dull green eyes,
craze the lazy glaze of night.
The city tosses in her sleep;
her dreams dent the deep
dark water. Behind the splitting
stucco ceilings, ancient bearded
thunder. Beneath the smoky wing
tips of gulls, bells, basilicas
and fleet bare feet usher
For more Tuesday Poems, please click on the quill.
This week's editor is Susan Landry with Conceptual Art, a prose poem by Holly Iglesias