byJim Barnes
- a sign we saw below a crude necklace
in a shop on rue de St. André des Arts
that specialized in jewels and old lace
and other worlds' bizarreneglect. We had no thought of buying things
so far from home. On touch I felt the red
Canyon de Chelly sand and the drumming
of dry thunder and dread.I felt my blood pulse slow and paid too much,
as any tourist would. The stones were dull
and real, their faces heavy to our touch.
On quai d'Orsay we pulledthem free of the German silver bases
and threw them wide into the rising Seine
to ride the earthy current into sea
and home on wind and rain.
From Paris. Copyright 1997 by Jim Barnes.
Used with the permission of the poet and the University of Illinois Press.Return to the Jim Barnes website