10.20.17, Paris

it stands to reason

that one can find no fault

in beginnings

like Paris on a Friday night

in late October

an opener for the ages, i’m sure

sitting in the window

of my home language

in a foreign city

and wracking my brain

for any fitting way to describe

hardwood, dust, exhaust, maps

and maybe the summer flowers

in autumn

or reflections of cathedrals

but words i dream up are definite

suggesting an end

and, for the life of me, i cannot imagine that

endings create pessimists out of thin air

and the mirrors

say i could never pull that off