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In the World, Not of It
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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. by Lorraine Sautner |
© Copyright 2003 by Lorraine Sautner
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