When I was in France last fall I wrote a series of what I called "french sentences," which were merely a riff on Allen Ginsberg's American sentences--a seventeen syllable sentence with the qualities of a haiku. I was writing about what it felt like to be in this part of France.
But this time around seventeen syllables felt way too short---and I set the parameters at 17 words, still with a concentration toward the qualities of a haiku.
Here's the one from yesterday:
L'eglise Saint-Sernin
We find the chapel after hiking steep miles, old stories pieced into walls, layer upon rocky layer.
