So it is we find the elephant in the room.

We tread so gently – those tusks too sharp.

You tell me, you can hardly see –

view obscured and any language, it is lost

The black balcony railing was only a foot from the window.

This of course didn’t stop him from sitting dangerously near the ledge,

the Paris cars fuming dangerously far below,

You have no opinion of either.

The soft tap-shoes or the gentle ballet-slippers with sweet ribbons that tie about the ankles.

Either / Or. Some blankness, lack of feeling or thought. Care.

In the Now – it is you whom I love.

You make this possible, impossible.

Push the limit. Test the bounds of the bond.

Affirmation here, is found in glances – a moment, a minute –

sometimes longer.

Here I sit in a corner café, a young man, late 20s

Driving toward there from here

We listen to this song, Je Reviens

A song about an affair, you say –

I am not greedy. One will do.

These stone walled farm houses, white-washed and hushed,

a small garden, lavender, passionflower whose leafy-hands stretch

I see it first in the back garden, quiet,

hidden amidst a dance of ballerina flowers, en pointe and ready,

white, blue, fragrant lavender. I know this dance well.

It does not matter that it is late or that I am cold

Nor does it matter that I am here in Southern France ,

a poet, surrounded by beauty yet unable to find the words.

If you knew... but then, you do.

Perhaps this then, the problem.

No second guessing. So I continue.

It is you. Now, it is you.

St. Maure , Southern France – just Another Side of Bob Dylan

We pass, up, down lit country hills under the red sky,

only now just appearing – no hard rain, only sun…

This, and in black-and-white – rewrite: shades of grey.

Life, of course, cannot be frozen.

Appears deceptively in stokes of brilliant color.

More a lively parting of the ways – this is how it starts.

The origin of fiest between two.

The blood begins to run rich, hot with possibility,

Right there.

Step off the curb and you can see the widow –

colored stones reflecting back the Paris light – this and your reflection;

I am freckled, speckled, spackled.

A gingersnap blonde thing.

Patina-eyes like marbles – do