There were lovers I would see
in the shadows of a doorway
of a crumbling façade articulated
with pilasters and a classical motif

below the roofline that reminded
me of a house I saw one afternoon
in Pompeii. I would see them after
midnight driving home down Calle 66

toward La Ermita, when the narrow
streets of Centro are deserted like
the dead city of Herculaneum, dark
and quiet, the only sound is the swoosh

of the wind in my windows and the echo
of my car passing along concrete walls
of casas that line the street like a cañón.
I would see them many nights, two bodies

intertwined in the doorway like the
 plaster casts of people excavated from the
volcanic ash of Vesuvius. Now when I
drive home sometime after midnight,

I no longer see them there, but only the
flickering light of a television plays in
the shadows and from the window
a soft azule light shines through the

wooden slits of closed shutters,
and in the doorway of a crumbling façad
earticulated by pilasters the only thing left,
the empty space of an abrazo desesperado.

Doug is the founder of Funky Dog Publishing and his publication credits include Writer's Digest, Poetry Magazine, Southern Cross Review, Purr Magazine, The Denver Quarterly, The Pittsburgh Quarterly, The Orange Room Review, The Adirondack Review, Pif Magazine  as well as many others. Doug has published 17 volumes of poetry, which are featured on his website.

This poem explores the streets of Merida, Yucatan, Mexico late at night. The architecture is distinctive and the cityscape is magical with its ancient motifs on colonial facades.   The poem also explores the changed perspective of the streets of evening through poetic images, the mystery of lovers in a doorway and the concept of empty space.



Copyright 2009