Aaron Lembo

Exiles and Loot by Aaron Lembo

They each exist, one after the other, on skiffs

gliding through canals at the dead of night.  

The moon burns topaz, street-lamps sigh.

 

One deserter whispers the Ave Maria.

Clap go the hurried boots of statesmen

chasing shadows down cobbled streets. 

 

The schismatic tongue, some say, lashes heresy.

Townsfolk who graft with hammer and anvil 

have begun to question the orthodox treatise.

 

Fog engulfs every street. Personae flee:

persecuted for their crafted rhetoric,

each prays in silence to the amethyst sea.