The Bay of Boston
So did the leaves shivered
at the breath of a sudden chill,
in the midst of
colorful hopes already drift
lovers fallen in the trap of illusion,
the same road awaits.
Montreal was cold and gray
and all those shops
incongruous
with spices and pungent smells
deceived us of where
we really were.
I have left you in such moldy flats
to spend the endless winter,
lone at your empty banquet
your enthusiasm
long before had vanished.
The sightseeing along
the highway
staged a melancholic show:
distant reds, yellows,
an agonizing greens
red, burgundy, into brown again.
A see-through of skeletons
the stretched trees implored
slowly sinking into apparent death.
I now look at the dense black water
of the ocean
washing needles ashore
while the unrelenting joy
of a clear day
stands behind newly built
outstanding condos waiting.
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