I sit on my bench in the corner of Le Jardin Luxembourg.The bust of Henry Merger ever listens to the call of the Chaffinch.
An elderly man jogs up the granite rose path. The skin of his legs, sags over his knees.
The difference between us is that he was still trying.

God! Mid-life.Contemporary prose escape me. I cling to bygone dreams.

I am stricken by the thought of every moment to come, away from this verdant canopy.
A woman shaped like a teapot, round and stout, walks on toothpicks. She scolds her son, who wants to swim in the basin.

Two lovers embrace by a box tree. The woman pulls the man’s hair and buries her nose into his neck.

I will remember this moment.It is more beautiful than anything I have experienced.

No, I am just more beautiful in it.

Ed Watson, Poet