At the third street on the left
from Bourbon Street,
the reddish brown waterline
follows us to the hotel
The sleek white walls appear
to be from ‘after Katrina’
like many here
In the spring sun
the pale green lies deserted
in the shadow of
a long line of soot
coughing cars
Where Sachtmo's park
seems forgotten
after cleaning and renovation
is the home of this
other musician with worldly
allure, like a fresh blueberry
on a flat beaten hill
full of loose ends