[on Paris:] A City Never

I Wanted To Remember In Order To Be Able To Return.

The Leaf Fall Of His Words, The Stained Glass Hues Of His Moods, The Rust In His Voice, The Smoke In His Mouth, His Breath On My Vision Like Human Breath Blinding A Mirror.

I Sleep With My Feet On Moss Carpets, My Branches In The Cotton Of The Clouds.

We Cannot Cure The Evils Of Politics With Politics.

You Marry The Day You Realize The Human Defects Of Your Love.