The Future of Flowers
All night I listened to the man
laughing in the courtyard. All night
his laughter said,
Let things outlast you: everything you do,
do as if you could live with it.
Forget the closed cluttered shops, the river.
Go with rain in your hair;
do not think of the little frozen animals you saw –
you wanted them in their forests, their nests,
but they are dead, and they want to be dead.
Yes, you are here, but the future blooms;
make your way without stopping time even once.
Over the Opera: purple clouds, cerulean streaks – that's all.
Caught up against Beauty's omnipotence,
none of us thinks clearly.
I open the door to the morning, and know
there are worse things than having to leave
Paris, but only so many.