Lamplight

I imagine a circle of poets standing

in a Paris park late Sunday afternoon

in Summer, accordion music wafts

across the garden as day fades 
into dusk,

and orange lamplight slowly floats towards

their unspoken words, each face illuminated

as if a veil through which they’ve been gazing

lifts for one simple breath and grateful

flags of full surrender, of friendship, shimmer 
over the green and solid ground.