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| Paris |
Lean against my heart sweet friend and tell me this:
How many times in a life can a man risk everything for love?
How many women can rise dripping from the sea on a scallop shell?
I am mad with appetite, foolish and sad. How much can I tell you
Before you fly? I exhaust myself, with little to show for it except
Lightning at dusk, tossing horizons, ten thousand stops and starts.
West! My mother fell in love at 83 and glided through town
Beside her man with the top down, tan, laughing, both of them,
Their white hair shaking in a red Corvette and dying separately.
Paris! Come spring I will sell the house and woods and move,
Passion beyond blame; you would come, you would.
When you stand in the sun you don't need the proof of it.
Meet me under Pont de la Tournelle when sunset floods the arches,
Hold fast to the iron rings anchored in the ancient wall as I
Press you against warm stone in the cool breath of the Seine,
Identities scattered by pickpockets to bleed in the rain,
Anything can happen if we keep writing, keep talking,
Learning the language, feeling our way, waiting to be touched.
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