(inspired by Le Havre, France– September 2015)
The sky smells of cigarettes rolls
itself into clouds on Tuesday afternoon
by the bus stop to Le Havre—
Even scarves and overcoats could not
help but shiver from the rain
in September, signaling winter to come.
The bus drags its tired engine,
dissipates smoke like tossed joints
washed away into the ocean.
A gentle draft tickles the window, asks
to be let in. Edges of unfinished letters
flutter against the glass, wished to be heard
From you, miles away from the coast:
if you listen carefully, you can hear
the harbor just barely calling your name.
© Rebecca Goes Rendezvous, 2018