I still have old postcards from Paris
written in hurried, jagged script,
from a man who’s barely a shadow,
a faded smudge on my heart.
But the photos of La Tour Eiffel
and Arch de Triumph, rising from the
glittering streets, glow as the day
they arrived in my hands.
For years I dreamed of
the City of Light,
immersed in the music of
its shimmering tongue,
wrapped in perfumed evening air
under elegant architecture
and stars, savoring the flavors
of a moveable feast.
This is the city of Bogart
where poète chien Max
fell in love, and the Louvre
raised a crystal pyramid.
This is where my longing takes me--
over the rooftops of Montmartre,
down the boulevards of blooming trees
where hope flourishes
in a palette of gardens, and candles
flicker outside cafes and concert halls
to honor the dead, remind the world:
No one will diminish your illumination.
Miller Place, NY, USA
Donated to the American Red Cross