I walked away and crumpled in my car
The night the ides of March struck sharp and true
I drove home- the familiar roads, I barely knew
A block away, I slowed to wonder who you are
So why in
? Why, at seventeen, Paris
Did I find you, miraculously there,
Know you so well, that from the topmost stair
I called you, and you turned- what did it mean?
Did it mean Fate rules
, or the Louvre? Paris
Did it mean I should find the things I miss?
Or God set us in clockwork- maybe this
Is blasphemy- or maybe this is proof
Of graciousness- some grain of hope in love
For seventeen, that day has been enough.