Sunday, July 9, 2017

These Glorious Moments

These Glorious Moments

Does it detract from the poem-ness of these lines to report
I am waiting for the bus to take me to the Right Bank?

If not, then let me be more specific.
The bus stop is within easy ear-range of the
church of Saint Germain des Pres.

Whose large wooden doors spread wide welcoming
late arriving observants, tardy practitioners,
and casual passers-by who happen to be
awaiting public transportation this Sunday.

A piece by Buxtehude, unless I am mistaken,
is brilliantly surging from the organ,
a choir sings back up or
has the organist perhaps pulled the stop marked:
Vox Humana?

A discrete  and understated choir more likely,

wafting incense as potent as the
organ music floats out the open doors,

and across the street a large black and white photograph
of Kate Moss folded arms over her breasts
only the slightest suggestion of her uncovered form

The bus arrives
a man wearing a yellow bow tie already on the bus.

Perhaps there is a god,
at least for these glorious moments


Paris 2017 #77

Sandy Kinnee


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