There on the threshold below to the garden
In front of the rest of the city that ends at the
Banks of the river and stretches back to me and
Holds a square patch of backyard where I’m looking at
Bunches of children, some fixed at their parents,
Take colorful strings draped cross branches of lemon and
Orange emit from the ends of it seem like
galaxy cupped in a leafy red canopy

(And I feel the breezes blow, pushing storms on my arms,
I'm out on the tips of spires, you can stare into the sea)