April 15

Read C’s poem, and watch the ashes flutter away…


They told me how one architect
cast himself as St Thomas

to look out over
the rooftops

in perpetuity–
a sentinel of the Île,

to dawns, the rains,
those low gold winter sunsets,

the Seine grown vein-dark
by evening, bridge spans

reflected to form
perfect spheres of sky–

transient beauty,
it was a later addition,

the apostles on the spire,
nothing lasts forever

as it stands
and nothing stands forever

but they took down
those statues

a few days ago
for what little that is worth

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