Passports

 

A lifeless traveler fully awakened,
The aircraft lands – you’re stirred and shaken.
Roots hold on again, once more,
Shackled to a cellar floor.
They wrap around the casks and mour ,
Steady and fast to thick, oaken boards.
They bow to greet the tastevin, the spoon,
The vineyard grew too thin.
Shared from a coast once untroubled,
The next years yields nearly doubled.
A life lived in the continental past,
My life of measurements in pages and ports.

Travelers sorry tales of museums and sites
But mostly tales of drunken nights.
Have they never dared to stroll the streets
Of cities new and clipped retreats?
Seen with eyes half open, pale and pink,
Or heard predawn scraping cleaners sweep.
Have you seen the lions roar,
On bridges that bring hearts to shore?
Or heard the pigeons fuss and chatter,
Flapping, fighting…nothing matters.

Have you heard the church bells strike,
Making you dumb and striking the night?
From sacred song comes morning air,
Our travels too short, hearts worse for the ware.

Should you find your body falter,
Off you go – a ferry to Gibraltar!
Take yourself to Rome in shade,
The rocky cold rush under sea to Calais.
Or take yourself to sites you know,
Fill it up for you’ll eventually show –
Your final passport to the ‘verse,
A single unit of life in a leather purse.
There won’t be use for wallets or fare,
Nor any value to passports that brought you there.

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