What To Remember Instead of Casablanca
You must remember this, the way the young French waiter
pronounced her name, Sarah Vog-gan
singing "April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom,
This is a feeling, No one can ever reprieve..." And how
on a small balcony in Paris where God spends His
summers, a baguette blessed with supper wine is holy.
How Green is the property of street-lined sycamores,
bursting giants of June. And, Blue, the divine province
of Bleu de Paris, a sky gold-kissed in a sly embrace until
no one misses the sun behind summer's spun-sugar
clouds. And, pray you then, think of those mysterious
shape-shifters in the Ebouie' fountain when bereft
of seas, rivers, crystalline mountain streams,
the softly heard roaring of their leonine songsters
took us to a place where the salmon leap,
their hearts bursting for home.
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