The Flâneur
the flâneur in the arcade of harmony,
carrying wax-apple of cinnamon coloring
past the pale silver or a morning moon
staying too long in the sky to follow the darkness
into whatever moment of tranquility the flâneur
shall stroll or wander, promenade or amble
there shall be the interruption of the morning
in sunset and city movement frenetic and measured
such is the portrait set against a sky painted in
stick figures blushing against memories and sorrow
Susanna’s naked body as sunrise awaiting the opening
of sight and insight to appear more than streaks of light split
oh flâneur, know that what you see is more illusion
than the promise of heaven and immortal grayness
as the soul waits for illumination in the mortal struggle
where mercy is a good-bye, good-bye, and all else is silence
