Lisbon Lies in Ruins

According to scientists
the travel ban cleared the air
but only roaches dance the streets of Paris
this defeated morning
No one wakes up rich anymore
and love is unnecessary torture
If we never meet again
this is what you’ll turn into:
the omitted third of a minor seven
the arched shadow of an illplanted cherry tree
tracks of lynx in wet soil
a misplaced treasure

The World is on its Way to You
Cliff Copse