A cloudy morning in Carcassonne
strolling up the hill to the cité –
I was thirsty, but I forgot my water
Of course, it was restored, and badly –
but all that means is one man’s vision
threw itself upon the walls –
how could my eyes, throwing their glance
have done any better?
The frowning Roman turrets
sit grumpily next to their descendants
the final result of which is to bring
to the forefront, a kind of archetype
of the castle, and fill it with shops.
Slowly climbing a staircase, caressing
with wonder the modern stairs, mistaken
for a bygone age’s deep invention.
Recordings, in the lopsided cathedral
are another image, of ancient chanters
carefully walking the halls.
Children run in the pews around me.
An intensity seen through a stained glass window –
I remember my thirst, I search for a fountain
but can find no water, only sand.

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