PROUSTIAN SPRING

Paris let me laugh after
again watching the plays
of Racine as in my youth
along the riverbanks,
recover me from exile
when the world
wears a sardonic smile
of Jean-Paul Belmondo,
in "Breathless"
wanting to embrace
to say yes to the darkness
in the last seat
at the orphaned metro
the Seine implants my heart
with the new wave of thanks
holding up red roses and wine
for a double feature
waiting for Renoir's
"Diary of a Chambermaid"
to begin its showing
knowing I have a chance
to play out with friends
in my emptiness of a game
by the backgammon tables
along with the good company
of students with their backpacks
who ride by in yellow motor cars
one of whom knew me
offering this poet a day out
of connected nostalgia
that still stays with me
with my evidence of memory.