Never met Clarice

Beaumaris,

carnival of soft pastel tones

of damp evenings

of tramway cars

with small orange lights

distracted bystanders

the empty bridges

the silent horizons

pale lace on a parasol,

light sepia dreams

of a particular Monet,

forgotten, unseen

before the rains came.

Many years later,

I found her

so tenuous, so subtle

in what little was left

yet there it was, her soul

all new shades

of melancholy.

Now I just swim,

every now and then

in that blue ocean

of her blueness,

the Sea of Oblivion.

In the glimpse

of bright reflections

of sunshine

on the water,

of salted afternoons

in a country

where it no longer

rains

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Never met Clarice - Hello Poetry