1 We lived here a deep stratum of years. The cafes are still spritzig and conversation. Why don’t I recognize any of the faces? 2 The river is mirrorous, expectant. It is poised in a lucidness of light. Is it waiting for something big to happen? 3 When the vertical white pelicans Scud across the twilight’s magenta water, What are they thinking? 4 The honey-comb apartments lit Like a cubist fresco on the night— What story does each glowing cell contain? 5 Those blue wrens are tinctured water, Which itself reflects the shy’s hue. What colour are they beneath that…