It is not that I long for your sweet muguet du bois
because it is yours
and not mine
It is not that your Cecile Brunner rose
smells sweeter than my lilikoi
Both climb exquisitely draped with blooms
I will send you pictures but not the fragrance
It does not bottle well I have tried
Fronds of grasses sway more golden wild oceans bluer deeper
when the sun is at your back
We can both look out together you there and me not there
I have my frothy summer sea
You have your snow crunch deep in December
These are images we trade like cards
Until feet whisper in soft black flats
upon certain old cobblestones
there will be swirly music in the starry night
notepad sherry pencils chapeaux
Cafe de la RueCafe de la BourseCafe de la DanseCafe de la Paix
We will string them along like recent lovers
Silk scarves billowing laughter
floating behind us en plain air
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"These are images we trade like cards" -- I like the whole poem a lot, but what an incredibly lovely line.
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