I dreamed this poem
on the plane coming back from
la ville lumière.
I begged you and the tree leaves
and her and the glory in his gaze
to be(come) my inspiration.
I came from uncertainty
where there was no remedy.
I flew back for more;
for the ultimate.
I am now back my friend,
inspired, as I am.
By the rain coming down hard
on the same cobblestones of the old town
and the smoke in the air
coming out of the cigar, blending
with the scent of the fresh rosewater.
By the smell of the café crème.
and the baguette crumbs in the same old place;
by the small coins and the big smiles
waiting for garçon de café;
by the shine on his moccasin in burgundy.
By the heart of the poor;
by the frown of the killer
and the dusted books on the shelves.
By the golden antique ring shining
on her chip-nailed fingers.
By the light at the end of the tunnel;
and the unfinished stories
still hanging in the history that we both belong to.
By his emptiness;
by her being who she is inside
and by my own refreshed heart and soul.
I will be back