Hello, I'm Jeremy Beaudry. Welcome to my place. Words, photos, drawings et cetera.*

Streets of Lisboa
of São Martinho do Porto
of Óbidos
of Nazaré

overlay anthropic order
onto old geology, stone upon stone
settled, as in settlement

hands and tools smooth stucco
paint sunlight and shadow
yellow, pink, blue

a million black and white blocks
sand mortared and solid along
the paths and tracks of intention

we tread, slide
always to the sea
to rock and sand

to crash and wave
to setting sun and
the Portuguese Atlantis

Sit still in the balcony. Sound is the scratch of graphite, scuffle of black boots. A deep sigh. A squint into the light, to focus the distance into the Bierstadt, into the Domes of Yellowstone. From St. Johnsbury, Vermont, now, to the West, then, 1867. Smell is burnt dust, furniture polish, oil varnish. Climb down the wrought iron spiral. Feeling is hand-worn oak, hardwood floor settling to steps. Light headed and under stated at the Athaneum.