wrought iron coiled like icing.
Fashionable ladies rustled in silk,
fortune tellers promised long life,
music drifted from bands to drown
threatening voices of wind and sea.
A snake of fire hatched on the pier
tasted and swallowed woodwork,
slithered among columns and walkways,
uncoiled scarlet through windows.
A grey confusion of smoke arose
volcanic eruption over the sea.
Merely a memory of the ballroom remains.
A turtle-shell of twisted tubes and stays
garlanded with fishing nets and twine
emerges rust-red from a grey silk sea.
Echoes of pavilion whisper on sky:
orphan columns bearing empty air.