Off prompt for NaPoWriMo today. I hate lists and my heart isn’t in it today anyway. Another puente instead.
On the right bank was home,
museums, galleries, market and school,
Sunday walks hand in hand, lovers,
later with children and changed perspectives.
There were friends there and parks
with sandpits and swings, cafés, smell of pastis,
coffee, and amid the endless serpentine streets
and right-angled, towering Haussmanniens,
the ordinary grubbiness of life
~anchored by the river~
the memories run
around the island spanned by bridges,
water and stone and iron,
intricate traceries of history, craftsmanship and passion.
Distance has enveloped memories in gentle mists,
an immutable past that remains,
though the heart is eaten by flames,
and time like the river rolls away,
never going back.