of Henri Cole's "The Roman Baths at Nimes"
Riffing off of the lines, "Some say love, disclosed, repels what it sees, / yet if I touch the darkness, it touches me."
At a long table, a group of Christian women
discuss me. Maybe my like of Robert Plant sends
the wrong message. Or maybe the right one, sin.
His sixties band on my shirt. I think of them singing
Misty Mountain Hop, hands in the crowd spread
open, open to the world. I bet they'd say visceral is
what tastes most like love. From my table, I can see
out. At church across the street, Jesus' cross shines
under a florescent light. The sun signs day over to dying stars.
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