My Parisian Sidwalk by Michael South

Washed in a desert’s night rain 
Prison lights impersonate themselves 
Mirrored on an incarcerated sidewalk 
Repainting gray fences and huddled pigeons 
Into oily and rippled metaphors
This is my melancholy Paris 
Where Parisian lights glisten in glorious puddles 
Tracing salient scenes 
Of metropolitan splendor and color 
Harvested only by a master’s myopic brush
Though I’ve never occasioned a meditative pause 
Before that painter’s canvas 
I did by chance unveil it 
On a torn and battered page 
Of a modest borrowed book
Long lost to turmoil and time 
The book has never again been found 
But each time the desert rains come 
They kindly paint my prison walk 
And my Paris has arrived once more
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