Holy Smoke

DOWN beneath the orange-flecked rooftops the

Sea breeze billows through regimented lines of

Coloured sheets and liberated incense from the

Afternoon Mass is found swirling amid the

Rectangular flagstones of bottle-necked streets.

One firm tug on the Heathen conscience and a

Passing soul is seduced by the dancing perfumery

Of transubstantiation; fresh from the vacated

Altar of bells and smells, her grey essence slowly

Fading as she moves through the crowd and

Gently mingles with the hot steam of freshly

Cooked bacalhau and other culinary spells.

© Troy Southgate