JULY PHANTASMS

Getting to the Seine
no longer knowing
which road leads us
to the sea in the rain
with beach houses
made from sandy imagination
that collapses space
in an infinite dawn garden
of hours exigencies
from breathless faith
within reach of the shore
still questioning if existence
with pardon a landscaped sky
as our day dream visions
remain as images
of two young sojourners
backpedaling on our bicycles
to reach a wayside inn
for a croissant and coffee
thinking of past lives
in the echo of images
near the distant July phantasms
and phantoms of budding images
near the garden of birds, cicadas
on a hillside of bumble bees
near nests of bewilderment
hearing the last train
inhaling goodbyes at the station
as we rest quietly
under the hot beach sun
at the knees of a lost parchment
to reach on a parentheses
of Pierre Jouve
keeping words alive
within the graffiti tongues
of the city's asphalt walls
since only dialogues of justice
is still our lonely vault of language
with an interpreter of exhumed words
of  looming dreams
covering legendary fragments
in a century's silent histories
of adversary manifestos
and a loss of identities
in the waves of children
spilling every reborn snow shower
of our passing meridian
from singing streams we know
of time's oblivion.