They come together in spring or summer,
recalling the old timbre of brass bands,
the vision of younger sisters waking at dawn
to put on majorette's costumes and high boots.
Their towns' most handsome will smile and wave
from flower-bedecked floats, and queens touch
the edges of butterfly sleeves, lightly holding
the pearl of a smile. Though now in other climes,
neither frost nor sun dampen the shine of chrome
nor the flourish of cornets and euphoniums. Saints
dressed as children or carpenters, farmers or
fishermen are borne aloft in the streets, gems
of paste winking from foil-covered crowns. Rice
grains turned into petals dyed yellow and green
curtain each window looking out— not over fields
and volcanoes but train tracks and city skylines.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
