Hotel de la Marine

If you stare at something long enough
it stops being the thing it is.
A lamppost precisely centered
in Charles Marville’s photograph
Hotel de la Marine becomes
a disillusioned romantic’s search
for clarity. He was out late drinking,
and now at dawn the streets are dim,
the facades peeling, oil smudges
in the alley, the world belonging
to the people who wake up early.
They’re more practical than us,
pushing fish carts into restaurants,
then having a smoke in the truck
on their way to somewhere else.
The romantic sits on a bench
opposite the lamppost, glimpses
a hand pulling aside a curtain
on the second floor, makes
a promise that may not survive the day.