The mountains were nude
warriors with alabaster shields;
at their feet, bright mounds of autumn
fruit lay rotting in sere fields.
Reed-fringed lakes lay open
to the skies like fallen giants' eyes;
a frisson as of thunder thrilled
the air and hissed of danger.
We passed strange monuments, white
pillars, floors of tessellated stone,
descending from the mountain to the plain.
The city was a pandemonium of sirens,
hell-bent wails. We lodged in a bordello
of all nations. The women, passing to
and fro with languid twist of waist
and hip, flounced their petticoats
and eyed us vaguely.
We tossed uneasily in sleep, our dreams
bizarre. Grotesque chimeras climbed
the stairs to rattle at our door.
Border Zone
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103022600763
Свидетельство о публикации №103022600763
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