I've never been to Paris.
On a crosstown bus at six a.m.,
I cross oceans in my mind.
Under a gray and overcast sky,
the stale air tastes of history
and last night's rain.
I sit at a small plastic table,
wobbling on uneven legs.
People rush past in a swirl
of bright colors and shopping bags.
An elderly couple shares lemonade.
Teenage girls giggle as they run.
A mother juggles her baby and her lunch.
Wind sweeps through my hair.
I'm suddenly cold.
Weeds grow through cracks in the concrete.
Voices blend and press on my ears.
I don't remember love.
Alone in a dream, I hear myself sigh.