A PORT CITY POET
Tears in a whiskey bottle
like the pure poetry
only Rimbaud
captures on napkins
near the port city
in Afrique
calling us lost cousins
of the casbah
our company desired
at an oasis
by a luminous moon
in a toast
to exile
of a hundred eternities
waiting on a far away life
as Rimbaud smashes
the cast-off glass.