my Amsterdam, November 7, 2013
by richibi
“Canal in Amsterdam” (1874)
____
in the morning we sit by the large
paned double windows that frame
the masterpiece that sits before our
paned double windows that frame
the masterpiece that sits before our
eyes, beyond a little cement and
wrought iron bridge that crosses
our canal another canal runs
perpendicular and away from us
between a row on either side of
trees, their leaves pale yellow
mostly, from late fall, with patches
here and there, like incidental
brushstrokes, of less vivid, or
weathered, if you like, greens
cobblestone paths along either bank,
charming but precarious, serve
pedestrians, cyclists in their dozens,
and the occasional adventurous car
willing to tackle the more lackadaisical
pace and unpredictability of bicycles,
people and everywhere watery
roadblocks, Renaissance gingerbread
houses hold the fort on either side of
the canvas, geometrically ceding to,
and doing a master class in,
perspective
in the distance, of course, the obligatory
steeple, infallably sounding on the quarter
hour
this morning a flight of what looked
to me like doves, so I’ll call them
to me like doves, so I’ll call them
doves, to touch up anyway with white
and peaceful thoughts my story, cast
magic by fretting in flocks vertiginously
between the parallel lines of trees, just
ahead of our front row seats
a symphony, I said to my mom, though
a symphony, I said to my mom, though
for the birds it must’ve been tumultuous,
a rash, maybe, anthropomorphism, but
their tumult has only ever translated for
me as immutably grace
people were taking pictures with their
smartphones, whirling skyward to the
avian poetry
we counted our blessings as we
breakfasted on coffee, bread and
cheese
later we’re off to the Rijksmuseum
to witness other visual wonders
Richard
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