
Rain on blue asphalt, from the the gutter see the sky, pink and burgundy rust and cracked wall abide in beautiful decay.

Rain on blue asphalt, from the the gutter see the sky, pink and burgundy rust and cracked wall abide in beautiful decay.

F. Scott’s optometrist’s eyes in the sky look down on Paris.

Light on the Seine where wall holds in people of the Isle and solitary tree entreats the sky.

“Spirit flies behind the spires of Our Lady above the black and white striped youth of Paris”