Villanelle for the parisian sunset

Through the pearl cataracts of mottled panes
Under the stretched out gooseflesh of the sky
Lies a city of roofs and weather vanes.

I can see the red sunset as it stains
The lardy clouds with a scandalous dye
Through the pearl cataracts of mottled panes

Above the slabs of bleak, gray concrete lanes
On an iron shore between low and high
Lies a city of roofs and weather vanes

Blue slate shingle roads stretch in endless chains,
To converge where I stand and play God’s spy,
Through the pearl cataracts of mottled panes.

Above the tiny black specks and their strains
Where the soft clay chimneypots melt and sigh
Lies a city of roofs and weather vanes

In my room with electric veins
I push on the cornea of the eye.
Through the pearl cataracts of mottled panes
Lies a city of roofs and weather vanes.