perhaps the moon is too near
the pane of glass will break
old crystal too will disappear
you'll keep on dancing
even if you dont want to
like the girl in red shoes
whirls to the cathedral and past it
there's a nihilistic feeling in the samba
a holiday with no meaning
and glittering beads
a carnival with angular faces
all this rain blowing over
a cross that bleeds.
I heard the music drifting across the water
at the mournful harbor I was ooming to
that part in the song in the city of song;
lost trumpets too.
its made of black stars whoever you are
its crossed with silver but not with gold
its so old pretending to be new
lace fans deployed on the avenue
it goes on and on
that samba song.
mary angela douglas 16 februay 2020
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