The Taste Of Lisbon

October 17, 2017

Sea-brined Tagus air

tastes of Lisbon past;

carries fado cries from Alfama

and a history of saudade,

pained waits for loved ones

to conquer the seas.

 

I see soft rain glaze

intricate mosaic streets

beneath a millefeuille

of sea-facing structures

that still hide their grief

like graffiti behind

blue-tiled facades.

 

In Café Martinho da Arcada

I sit, as ever, where

Pessoa sat; taste espresso 

aromas of his words

steeped into tables, chairs

and nicotined walls.

 

Outside, a number 28 tram

grates and whines past.

Rain has cleared. A wagtail 

bobs by full of knowing. I

notice magnolia blossom.

The first taste of spring.

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