Cradled in the seine’s cold embrace;
Not wet, but watching
Ships bludgeon their way through
Her murky waters.
If I were a child I would fancy a frolic in her hold;
Now my mind strays to needles, bodies and hypothermia.
Oh to be a child again.
in Paris
Foreign country,
Languages melt together.
Bouillon cubes in boiling water
Flavoring what was not.
Décembre 2016
Sitting in the shadows
Of the Tour Eiffel.
The world seems small,
Accessible and fair!
Flags rest in windows
Reminding that it is not.