NOT ME
No. I do not dream.
Those reveries are far in the past.
They are filled with contemplations,
images born first from meditation
where each face was erased
as one event at the time.
But one night she appeared to me in a dream
walking with a wavy rhythm on a Paris street,
perhaps, it was on Les Champs Élysées,
perhaps, on an older street of First Arrondissement.
She was for a moment still slim and pretty as I met her one night
in an entourage of food from Strasbourg
where French and German friends also gathered together.
So, I no longer dream of that beauty,
perhaps too cute to be for me,
maybe not intended to be lovely mine
instead for a younger, wealthier man.
