I am sat inside
A warm breeze, spills in, through the open door
Tickles the hair on my thin bare legs
I have carried a song
Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn Bridge
Carried it all the way from waking
John Berger’s Bento’s Sketchbook is by my side
I bought it four weeks ago, especially for this vacation
I am high with expectation; pray no disappointments
The breeze whistles in the chimney
It reaches here, after having moved with grace
Through the gently-swaying, flowered blue mimosa
On the patio, beside the pool, there is conversation
Happy voices, easy with their laughter
Talk of antique shops, in country villages, & the like
This poem is from the collection
