Marseille

 

As the cold builds its weight

and piles itself high,

the last leaf falls

in Marseille,

skates the pale air

to find the coast

and her hum

subdued.

 

On land

our shared tables get shorter and smaller,

but we linger longer around them

sharing out the drops.

 

Love can’t dilute

but it does concentrate,

and though our bare upper branches

cast severe limbs against the sky

at least we can see it.

To dwell to long 

is defeat in these winters.

 

So burn all the heirlooms for warmth,

we can go out and make our own.