Alone in Paris

by Dieu

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It is good to be alone
in Paris
where the mingle of foreign tongues
murmur quietly in the air
and the light softly falls
upon shoulders
and leaves
and hands.
Hands that hold cigarettes
casually.
Hands that hold
and clasp
like the little girl
holding her father’s hand
as they go along
while I sit quietly and stare.

It is good to be alone in Paris
where one feels thrown into
Being
and where loneliness is
Sweet
and you feel as if
you are in a place of
Memory
where all things are
Shining.

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