the seine

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.