She Washes Her Legs In The Fountain Poem by jerome moore

sitting on the perch of the fountain
she sang to figures holding their basins
her voice cracking their ears
her voice swelling in the clouds
ripping them to tatters
her stockings are ink stained
sitting on her perch she washed her legs
and the fountain flowers fall to her feet.

behind her was a city of sapphire
surrounded by mountains of coral
and glass pine trees.

she finished washing and left a blood trail to her bed.