Friday, November 20, 2015


I scattered lost thoughts all over the streets of Paris
Like rose petals, bread crumbs or cookie fortunes
Hoping they would float down the Seine
Beneath the ancient bridges
Past the summer homes of Communist poets
All the way to the sea

There they would conspire
With ghost vehicles of exile
To slip through the Panama Canal
And meet me in San Francisco

Mark J. Mitchell
San Francisco, CA
Donated to Doctors Without Borders 

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