View of Delft
Amid white shells of morning, the blacksmith looks to the door and hears the ringing church bells.
Amid white shells of morning, the blacksmith looks to the door and hears ringing church bells.
The church steeple tolls. Empty sherry casks, hardwood, cold stone, new bread; the Cooper grins.
Alleyway grandmothers pour whiskey into flowerbeds. The whiskey stirs the stems, pools in the soil.
A new wife stands in the light of her east window and slowly unfolds a letter. Death? Departure? Good news?
The Painter stands still, watching spent rain clouds leave lead-tin-yellow and lapis lazuli running down damp rooftops—edge of the quay: the sill of morning.
Delft! Citadel of Morning.
About the Creator
Eric Dovigi
I am a writer and musician living in Arizona. I write about weird specific emotions I feel. I didn't like high school. I eat out too much. I stand 5'11" in basketball shoes.
Twitter: @DovigiEric
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