Left of Paris

There are impossible things

trapped in the brambles of the past now,

things I may never find.

Some longings, so specific and exact

have been permanently cracked

buried deep

showered with buckets of tears

given tender memorials.

It is only after such stark funerals

that I can humbly admit

no more effort

no brighter epiphanies

no more clarity

no wider smile

no softer touch

no brisker "Yes!"

nor bolder "No!"

no silkier toss of mane,

no loftier words

hurled at a bluer sky,

would have

could have

made things

"as they should be."

But...

mountains move,

La Tour Eiffel dances,

that dream love

for which so long I have waited,

comes ever closer,

nearly fits in my hand,

the moment I allow "how it should have been"

to become simply "how it is..."

when I close my eyes,

breathe deeply and let myself remember

The Beautiful Lady herself

has stood watching lovers

for so long...

quietly...

patient...

alone...

yet still she whispers,

"J'ai confiance."