First I notice the fountains. Mouths of fish
open and hollow. A nymph with grapes,
her tipped and empty urn. Poseidon without
his sea. I miss the water’s song,
the trickle that focuses
a wandering mind.
Next, a row of six cisterns
on a distant sun-glint edifice.
A creek bed with blanched limbs.
Inside a church, cool refuge.
Giant scalloped baptismal
inside ancient double doors.
Fingers dipped for holy water. Shell
bone-dry.
There’s still time
to drop a euro in the coin box,
light a candle and pray.
Dry Spells by Sharon Tracey | Garden Lavender Poetry Reed Diffuser
Sharon Tracey is the author of three books of poetry: Land Marks (Shanti Arts 2022), Chroma: Five Centuries of Women Artists (Shanti Arts 2020), and What I Remember Most is Everything (All Caps Publishing 2017). Her poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including Terrain, Radar Poetry, and The Ekphrastic Review, among others. She lives and writes in western Massachusetts. sharontracey.com
