With a low percentage of the summer’s borrowed flaws,
We coursed on the Main, so tamed and sinuous, from the city firth.
I swear to the ceremonies of farewell when a muted bugle signalled
From wetted resonance the beginning of the drift.
It was somewhere beneath dawn’s yawning spree – on the breath of
8 a.m. and a little further.
Thursday waited to puke on me the vestiges of dreary, gloomy filth.
And I stood sentry on the forked way of depression, expecting grease,
Weed, tangles and fogs of a depraved autumn...
But then, her Leo spoke in jest of the usual tragedy of the fourth day.
NAUTILUS, white and merry, slid quietly...
Bucolic montage held breath with patches of milking solar, greying with
Fish farmers’ mottles of glow. Sprouting from the hair of poplars, spires and
Spires and all other structures of silenced holiness.
In this poetry, Philippsruhe of the connubial vows, stood in witness...
Lochs and bonds of water, grey and humid, flirted with the loose summer.
And among many flashes, the lightning from Niepce’s tool held the
Upper deck hostage.
Frau Leo, the leonine mercy by me, swore about the eye-catching,
Fraternal twin towers decked with sublime and archaic holiness.
Renaissance commenced on spires and on the breath of belfries, hailing
Pealing bells that dragged Seligenstadt towards the sinews of visitors –
Jews and Philistines alike; hippophiles and colours of dew.
On Seligenstadt’s lower navel, a humbled necropolis of black-and-grey stones!
Eerie with the saddened choir of vitrined figurines, voices kept the river at bay.
Marble and imported Carrara bevels yielded history with yodelling flowers,
Blooming with the age of the deed and the death of the innocent.
Early lie some by way of cancer.
Beyond, the spires keep a watch, saddled with wind's crease and censure, and
Nurturing silences and the peals from moaning belfries....
Of these come the coincidence of slumber, mirrored slumber, troubled, ailing nights,
Coursed through pivotal dim contours of frenzied insomnia.