Paris
Our paths cross as they have before
greetings exchanged upon a hint of recognition
though unable to place when or where
I was thinking French class, or maybe
we were lovers in another lifetime.
Perhaps Paris…
expatriates sharing café au lait
and stories of home.
Strolling down the Champs- Elysees
I remove my chapeau and
bowing deeply, I ask you to dance.
Your cheeks blush, desperately
trying to match the perfectly pink
parasol you twirl above your head
in the sun- splashed boulevard.
Mass
Random thoughts,
like slow- moving, hungry beasts
forage through the meadow of my mind
the tireless shepherd of my consciousness
drives them on lest they consider
this range of gray matter a home
still they graze and consume
every grain- do they not know
they too will perish
when all is gone
can they not see
what fate lies ahead
and the shepherd; tender of the flock
simply walks behind these creatures,
not minding the foreboding clouds
forming a dark malleable mass
not yet raining
but always threatening
