You travel in the vicinity of love,
oh you, city of movement, of youth
no matter your age.
You shimmy to accordion music,
to troubadour songs,
to my humming as I watch you, Paris,
from my hotel window.
There, a bunch of soldiers
cruising, like a flock of pigeons,
down, or maybe up, a Parisian street,
the curb, the stones, the cracks lit with morning.
Here, below my door-like window,
spreads another building's roof
showing off its Paris-green,
as if decked in perpetual victory mode.
Paris, my friend, you sprang a revolution,
satirized Nazis, propagated romance,
dodged being crippled by terror
as terrorists lunged at your legs, your throat.
Even now, as violence still growls and thunders
you stride along the road of courage.
Under the sunlight's benign weight,
basking in full day, then late afternoon, then twilight,
you refuse to lose your name,
oh place of hope,
City of The Enlightenment.
New York City
Donation to Doctors without Borders