broke down palace

I wonder if they know
that this is a nice town.
Coffee on the canal
the owls posting pics
from last nights lightening.

Most towns bleed rust
iron being too aware of itself.
We are near enough here
to where the stars get drunk
and skinny dip.

A few molehills north
the fish dance with ghosts.
My drink is poured into the hillside
where the cicadas speak song to Venus
but my wagon ails, and my kite is still sunk
into the most pleasant stretch of sky
that ever crept alongside a nice town.