I Dream of Paris

I dream of Paris,

though I’ve never been there,

not yet, but perhaps …

la Seine and la Tour Eiffel,

des Champs-Élysée, le Musée du Louvre,

and coffee at a little French café,

“un café noire, s’il vous plaît,”

across from a young Parisian woman,

too young, but pretty company,

teaching me a little French, un peu,

bringing back what little I once learned

in a high school class, passed and mostly forgotten,

bringing it back from the long ago dreams

that never came true in leaving youth behind,

the girl I never married, the things I didn’t do,

didn’t see, choosing instead to dream of Paris,

la Seine, des Champs-Élysée, a little French café

and a pretty companion teaching me French

over a cup of coffee, un café noire,

just sitting here dreaming, the years slipping by  

while youth peeks out from the recesses of memory.