By: Lorraine Sautner
I am a silvered thread that dances
from fore to aft in one of France’s
Bâteaux-Mouches, a phantom ferry,
waltzing toward gallic estuary
of the River Seine, at midnight.
Adorned with memories and moonlit kisses,
collecting dreams of Parisian misses,
my starboard lights are coyly winking
as broken hearts I keep from sinking
off the Pont des Arts, the Lover’s Bridge.
In the night, when all are sleeping,
a romantic vigil I am keeping,
patrolling close these sacred waters,
gathering forsaken hopes of daughters
whose lovers have left them, quite dejected.
In the world, but not quite of it,
my raison d’être is divinely lit
by Sacré Coeur, whose redeeming pain
as I journey toward Alsace-Lorraine,
leaves shattered promises healed, and long forgotten.
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Topic: In the World, Not of It (Read 573 times)