Tinnitus of Memory

A Poem by Triin

I see, beneath a baroque bridge, aged sirens
in washed-out nightgowns, drinking wine.

The homeless who stagger in the dark
as if to melt time into the River Lethe.

A woman who believes she is a blue painting by Picasso
is a crumbling cathedral draped in searchlights.

The city is a scene out of Goya’s black period
where we cannot silence the tinnitus of memory.