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.


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

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