In the Paris Cafe
on Rue Des Barres
I see you are hungry.
You need a cold drink.
Your thirst isn’t quenched.
You flirt with the waiter,
who looks like Chagall
with his curved archer smile.
Nothing is wrong.
He responds to your mirth.
Your hands
the wings
of a trapped butterfly
flutter and flap.
You are trying to grip.
Your twinkling eyes and deep-seated desires
have more rising steam than the dish he presents.
You’re on fire.
It’s a sign of your burgeoning age.
But it’s not as late as you fear.
I take a sip of clear water
That’s all I now need.
I don’t want fancy wine anymore.
I am fine.
Lean back in your chair.
Relax at my side.
I have told you before
How deeply I care.
The future is certain, open and wide.
The Dreaming Path 