Picture: Notre Dame de Grace, Honfleur by Guy Rose
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Fresh is a deep breath,
Encompassing it all.
Here’s the sky, above high towers:
Concrete, metal, and glass;
Old marbles of white,
Red bricks piled up tight,
On which, persistent is the grass.
The clouds
And the blue behind them sing to me,
As the solitary maple tree,
Somehow still green.
Afternoon, winter:
Meek python-trams moving softly;
Victorian windows, echoes of Venice;
Medieval memories overshadowing these streets.
Only now, I really see your grace,
Manchester,
The beauty of form beyond form,
Of the dream beyond the dream.
Only now…
Is there any other moment anyway?
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Herons