Saint-Louis-en-l'Île

I trace her streets
in strides of thoughtful musings –
and in them
haunt the hushed and quiet cross streets
that bounce the sounds of
high heeled steps
from one high window
to the next
to be lost in the geraniums
drifting down
from window sills.


The Rue Saint Louis en l’Île -
splitting the island
into two irresistible halves -
spills over with
the glimmer of pastries and cheeses
behind polished windows,
the smell of warm chocolate from a spice seller,
marionettes dangling in laughing poses,
shop fronts with dim treasures within,
sounds echoing
and then muffled as corners are turned,
denim passing Chanel,
tourists wielding cameras
as ancient family patriarchs
disappear
behind carved oaken doors.

A church with jewel box grandeur within
cloaked in grim, grey stone -
active even in repose -
gazing down
in a maternal benevolence
onto an ice cream café
filled with laughing strangers
and redolent of cups of café crème.


Beneath tall silent houses
reflecting onto the Seine’s rippling surface
and tree limbs bending over stone quais,
fishermen huddle with rods extended
turning a blind eye to
the sunbather nearby...
tearing a baguette
to eat with cheese, figs and
a slice of crisp buttery chocolate…


The undertow that pulls
me back…


the timeworn pavements that call…
the undeniable, unrelenting grasp
that filled my senses to the brim
as I walked her sidewalks
and breathed her exhaled breezes
still beckons me…


Her stones took seed within me -
flowering in such a way
that no vases are enough
to contain the blossoms
of each smell,
each sight,
each taste remembered.


Wonderful - the Eiffel Tower views.
Graceful with magnificent ease - the curling stairs of Notre Dame
with gargoyles leaning at elbow
and clouds brushing angels wings….


But my thoughts linger
along the Quai d’Orléans
and letting them drift back

my heart rests.

Written 6-28-10