at the riverside gardens

workmen in dirty overalls
sandblast the last unrestored monument
20th century dirt spoils Renaissance marble
veined white appears under city gray
to the south a green copper dome
the footbridge across the Seine
leading there
new cedar planks connecting the banks
glistens as tourist heels
beat tango rhythms of cultural crossing

I sit waiting, green iron armchair, in the middle
of two rows of delicately budding linden trees
trying to hear the splash of a fountain nearby
people come close
curious about my red Reeboks and orange folder
they discover blue eyes
an aqua scarf, purple flannel shirt
framed in the gray skies of unarriving springtime
some say a quiet hello, asking for directions in accents so colorful
sometimes I laugh

police sirens disturb my appreciation
punctuating the constant grumble
of vehicles speeding by
higher up I watch a flock of swallows which leads me
to the twin spires of a cathedral,
a bit further east the renowned lace of Eiffel

the new center piece of the gardens
dead tree turned into sculpture
lays peacefully in a 15-foot expanse of grasses
many of which I have never seen before
its branches reach out to welcome flowering shrubs
a sadness is there, a century of roots airborne
no longer nourish the tree
but my imagination

I slowly return to my home
my suburb is called the City of Doves
I sleep with the cooing of two turtle doves
who have nested on my balcony
and my apartment furnace
which drones encouragingly
reassured, I dream




         at the riverfront gardens
         20 april, 2006