I walk through arches of ancient stone, gateways to both past and future,
revel in the orchestra of dappled sunlight my eyes closed to its sweet brightness, swept up in the adagio of water cascading over marble torsos.
where honeysuckle appears as lemon zest and the yolks of oeufs pochés run over slender stems of bright green asparagus, figs snatched from the wasp and shavings of hard cheese, glasses of Viognier sweat and sugared Pâtes de fruits glisten.
over the rivers that run through cities – joining east and west or north and south – where cappuccinos, cobbled streets and Linden trees spill as Impressionist paint.
White linen dress,
conveying coolness when heat demands respite.
You never asked me to stay,
though the timeless echo of church bells, votive, rose windows and frescos on plaster remain.
More impossible than staying is leaving,
moonlight touches your face, a night breeze wafts gossamer at open windows,
I am a woman in search of a single word.
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