Etudes-tableaux en quatre clés

I

This leaf will soon be gone, lost to the day

Lost to light, but for now it glows and holds

All changing hues within its fragile folds

And burns surgingly as each final ray

Intensifies the colours. White pearls play

Along its jagged blade, catching more light

And magnifying death with each bright

Orb as each dies against the light’s decay.

Soon too, the Madder lake within my veins

Will curdle and turn to Egyptian blue

And purpurin will ease my weary pains.

How then will I enjoy the dying light and sit

To watch the beauty of the wetting rains

And thank my God that I am part of it?

II

A raindrop slithers down the windowpane

Gathering condensation as it goes.

Inside the café, chairs are stacked in rows

Upturned by Covid’s ceaseless deadly game.

Outside, a distant siren fades, a train

Rumbles across the bridge. Inside, the low

Mood of dark wet winter Wednesdays shows

In the barista’s eyes, bloodshot with strain.

A worker huddles home against the rain

Pausing at the shop front to make a call

Back-lit mobile luminescence stains

His face – receives an iridescent pall.

Within, the cappuccino bubbler strains

And sighs. Beyond the window, rain still falls.

III

A prehistoric scene surrounds me now

Bleak darkened forms assemble and draw near,

Creatures humped by umbrellas seem to bow

To smaller forms who grasp their hands to steer

The way to home. A chill squall coldly whisks

Stinging rain – dashing it against the wall

And mothers bend and haste to chase with brisk

Alert, shepherding in a friendly maul

Of shouts and squeals and sudden high laughter

Followed by engine roars and slamming doors

Of cars heading home. A moment after

Silence fills up the road of shuttered stores.

I close my eyes against the dripping rain

Remembering the laughter and the pain

IIII

The secrets of this place are in the sound

Stimulating sonic colours in the mind

Synaesthesic nocturnes percuss resound

Lulled by the lilting in the darkness blind

Nothing can we see, sounds alone abound

Reverberating in this place we find

That here we need an acoustic genie

To raise up Giacomo da Lentini*

*Giacomo da Lentini, known to Dante as Il Notaro – The Notary –  is credited with the creation of the sonnet.