So this is life,
my life, thus far as I sit in San Francisco rain and fog obscura.
Obscuring my heart.

In this uniquely American place,
In a proper French restaurant
Absolute knowing that I will never have Paris
And it's beautiful women I want so much.

The French in San Francisco
An American soul lost but anchored here for now
So I gaze on my streets
As I look with so much love at my mother so brave in her dying.

I am blessed in the knowing that I am where I must be.
And that someday . . . I will have Paris and it me, lost in a dream.