carole alto

the name was a dream but it stuck

clear as glass       carole alto

and the earthquake

creamy stilettos step on the light debris

brown ankles dipped in opaque waters

wide legged balance on pieces of ten inch plaster

halfway submerged with her weight but precariously

she moves forward as if on stilts       dark arches around and ahead

in the halflight she thinks she is in venice         again

europe follows her where she goes

carole alto

her saviour in a bottle

she does not swallow       she stipples       she daubs

she smells like a million dollars

strength walks in her perfumed shadow

and carole alto

she thinks all the while

surely this could be an ad

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