I dreamt of 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.

Sweetness,

I will be back

with more;

for more

and

much

more.

S