Persistence

Nicole’s winds drove the sea onto the land

Then over and under A1a,

Collapsing the road,

Flooding the inns and houses,

And destroying beach entrances.

Yet, Pelicans still glide over waves,

And dog walkers still converse at water’s edge.

View from Eze

The steps are steep

And the climb long

Under the Mediterranean sun.

His clothing clings,

His legs ache,

His eyes sting.

Yet at the summit,

His weariness dissolves,

Diluted with scenic wonder.

Post Tempest

Here, an old oak leans over the street,

Sand fences spill down sea walls,

And beach steps lay dismembered.

There, a mother and child welcome the sun.

Outside the Picasso Museum

Scanning the courtyard below

For companions especially late,

The pair await with growing displeasure.

Temptation

Blue door in wall ajar

Snares meandering mind ‑‑

Forbidden portal beckons

Garden Door on Aviles Street

You wouldn’t think,

What with the nicely potted flowers

That flank the stained wooden garden door,

And, what with the bold golden colors

Of the distressed garden wall,

No, you wouldn’t think

That the single, bare, and unassuming branch

Visible through the barred window

Would maintain such a grip on my attention.

Passing Thoughts

This morning I sense Death following.

I can’t say how far he’s behind,

But I’m certain he’s closer than last year

And now has a longer stride than mine.

That said, those stunning blossoms ahead

Call for a moment or two of my time.

Grandfather’s Visit

Fading from view a sliver more each stay,

He stands at the French doors,

Observing the game outside while drifting inward

Toward missing-frame memories of some distant past.

An Ending Out of Sight

This charming street is descending now

With gravity quickening our step.

Ahead, I see our route curve north,

And while I cannot be certain,

I sense we approach the edge of town.

Still, if true, there’s little to be done

But to slow our pace, hold hands firmly,

And see our pleasant stroll to its end.

The House at the End of Vilano Bridge

Look there to your right.

Do you see that small white house

Nestled in the trees at water’s edge?

I look for it each time I cross the bridge

As I head toward town.

And each time I feel that it’s calling to me,

Though I can’t put in words exactly why.

And each time I feel my heart reply,