Spring in Lisbon
The pale indigo fireworks of spring
Stand like guardians
Of my origins.
In this great square
Where the people have fled
The iron and stone pillars
Their rulers dictated they know
I walk this city for one day:
Through the broken urns
Of Phoenicians, and the
Ruined palace stairs
Of the moors,
The warrens of Alfama
And the grand commercial plaza
Now emptied of its empire
And abandoned to hawkers
From the colonies selling
Tinted glass and trinkets.
The streets have only tourists.
The guides speak of Salazar
And forgotten faiths
Of a country ill-at-ease
With its past.
But the jacaranda trees
Sing me from Lisbon to Brisbane
To other disasters
And there I find my spring.
May 2019
