Waiting in the sun tanned long, cooled,
adrift in this nineteenth century summer,
that’s the day’s lotion dawbed onto this scene.
Colours hewn as bold as rough cut jewels,
lasting display of orange pasted curls
arranging the shutters, closing the frames.
The afternoon turns oblequely, footfalls
against the cobbles that contain the shade,
a street to save the stillness resolved
as a child saves hours. Pleads for more minutes,
before he turns reluctant to bed, slinks past
the chairs that persuade the night’s spark.
Extinguished light that fills up my sentiments
remains believable, spills a blue against the skin
of amber pigment. A primary at this late hour,
as a cooler liquor, anticipation for the next mouthful
under breezes’ comfort. Ovals as tables are stars
dropped from the sky to relieve the chill weight.
One spectrum of dusk is a vibrant, assuring glow,
Vincent, this cafe will display a lantern tonight.
