Pluck
from Travelogue: Paris

Flash balm exhales like the dawn

A weekend overcast
A burning off the past

All in a bench beside the Seine
There’s nothing to describe
It passes through the mind

Observes the constancy of birth
Coming round the curve
Didn’t see it first

Accepts the constancy of death
The lovers over there
Have days to decades left

I’d leave him out of it
If you’re so bright
Let’s see the light.