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An Early Spring Day in Paris, 1984

The Seine flows

endlessly

around us.

We sit on the tip

of the Ile de la Cite

as if on a boat’s bow,

sailing up the river.

The sun shines,

like a promise,

after days of cold rain.

We drink a decent Bordeaux,

eat fresh pate smeared

across chunks of ubiquitous baguette.

Notre Dame looms

darkly behind

in its medieval bulk.

We are in love, as we

are still forty years later.

Nearby,

above a former morgue,

is a memorial

to the two hundred thousand martyrs

handed over to the Nazis by the Vichy

for deportation to the camps

forty years before we sat happily

oblivious to all but the beauty

of that one Parisian afternoon.

(September 19, 2019)

with you always

kaleidoscope

 

Beauty laughs beatifically at us

who pass by obsessed with desire

and fear for the next distraction,

unaware of each moment’s

kaleidoscope rippling, like an eye

opening, toward a new horizon

in each hesitant step we take.

 

I open my hand as an offering

to the life we are becoming

inside this present we are in.

Beauty lives here or nowhere:

a dust mote swirls in sunlight

spilling through an open window

into this singular Sunday morning.

 

(February 18, 2018)