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Reverie

Beneath the horizon's edge, France lies
Like a sleeping beauty. Nothing disturbs
Her rest.
              In the twilight Paris lies
In silence, untroubled, like a mother who knows
Her children are safe in their beds. Her streets
Run like dark rivers. Her buildings are stars.

In the darkness of my mind, I gaze on her
And do not see her wars, goverments,
Strikes, riots, or defeats. I turn my eyes
Toward France and see she is only herself.
She sleeps. No voice can wake her from her dream.
A painter saw it once, and then forgot it:
A Breton girl, bonnet loose, running through a field.



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