sonnet 90.

fluorescent lichens burgeoning, affixed
anemone-like to the plaster wall
so soaked, its normal color, if at all,
is visible in mottled patches; thick
grey mist hangs low, the rusted tin roofs slick
with drops that splatter coldly when they fall.
the alley seems aquatic; snails crawl
across the slimy, water-darkened bricks,
all surfaces encrusted like the shell
of something sunk, forgotten long ago.
it feels like swimming, moving through the town;
it’s silent as the ocean floor, as well —
our eyes like searchlights sweeping to and fro,
we roam like restless mariners who’ve drowned.

words and photo: Alex G.
from “108 sonnets”, available at: http://bit.ly/108_sonnets.