Wednesday, March 01, 2006


Easel poised,
cocked beret and silken scarf dangling off the edge,
gingerly bending under thoughtful light strokes
artist’s brush twirling the Seine
in majestic echoes of Piaf.
Trenet, Chevalier plucking her acoustic nerve,
as the warmth of breakfast croissants
melt inside…
still enough room for crème brulee.

Leaching romantic inspiration
each landmarks beckon – a tale
coveting the canals

in slender splendors,
seductions and…

- silence!
The Arc de Triomphe and spire tower
fancy her Degas at noon
or Gene Kelly by Gershwin-ed midnight.
‘our love is here’ to be immortalized.
Sipping the quiet dark nectar in vineyard fruits,
gliding past gilded mirrored clouds in the halls,

transforming time’s elegance inside the musee d’Orsay –

Her daydreams are numb,
past window éclairs and cabarets
her heart weaving ribbons through beaded windmills
rouge velvet hours at last fade;
steely dawn once more.
Locals sullen and moody,
musing profoundly…

‘Ah, she dreams like a Frenchman,
Alas – but trips as the tourist’
, past Momarte,
duffle hunched across her back,
her Toulouse - too loose,
and finally exhausted,
with Can-can memoirs,
to be immortalized on postcards
written in haste on the plane back home…
If only the ticket hadn’t expired last night.


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