Richard Berengarten

When she sang in the white alley

When she sang

in the white alley beside

the covered fruit market


the cheesemakers

and yoghurt pourers sighed

in their large blouses


a legless beggar, perched

on cardboard in his colonnade

stopped twitching his lips


for five long seconds

the corner butcher held

his cleaver in mid swipe


a ringletted redhead’s irises

from their habitual brown     

burned gold streaked green


and the woman selling

strawberries laughed

remembering something




grace                                                  in                                              pure white