On My Son Alexander’s Last Day In Paris
by Sandra Rokoff-Lizut

I watch him study at the Louvre,
stride along the Seine,
lose him at the Place De Ville,
catch his scent again.

I creep behind with panther’s grace
and silent skulking skill.
J’espere to trap,
recapture him,
(yet know I never will).

His youth retreating evermore,
craft and gifts well honed,
he grasps his future hungrily
and gnaws it to the bone.

As Paris,
softly feather grey,
enfolds him
one last time today.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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