Paris, where the streets are named for poets and painters, writers and architects.
Or names of beauty like Rue de Bellechasse, where I turn the Café Mucha into my virtual office.
In Jerusalem, the streets are named for the prophets.
In Portlandia, the Simpsons name the streets.
When the city sleeps
And I’m the only one and I walk alone.
I stood in the midday sun on the empty street, watching the summer breeze carry leaves softly on the winds until they lay still on the black pavement,
If I could use words
Like falling leaves
what a bonfire
my poems would make.
I thought of Taipei and how the winds played symphonies on the leaves of the camphor trees.
Sophie said that I had lived ten lives. Probably true. I just don't know if these ten lives have been in this lifetime.