In Perigord

In Perigord

In Perigord

Fern shapes in rock;
                                        sponges
solidified in fluctuating neon;
                                             human digits
scattered across gravel;
                          shapes of the Bear,
                                        the Antelope;
glass bowls,
             amphoras.

                            A courtyard of broken inscriptions.
Mosaic floors from the old Roman town
Vesuna
                 where children circle on bicycles
a tower split open down one side;
horseshoe of sky at the top.

The church bells toll:
               “Tote dat barge,
                            lift dat bale”
for an invisible celebration,
a tricoleur and makeshift dais
             erected in the empty plaza.
Snatches of marching music, an amplified voice:

                          un        deux     trois     quatre
                               un        deux     trois     quatre
                          ici
                             ici
                          un        deux     trois      quatre
                             un        deux     trois     quatre
                                 un        deux     trois     quatre
                          ici       ici         ici
                             ici        ici        ici

and an old man in khaki,
weighed down by enormous red epaulettes,
steps out of a public lavatory.