Mornings I meander down Degraves

A small slice of Europe. Café Lorca
Makes me crave huevos de gamba
and strong black coffee
Il Papiro whis­per­ing to me of Firenze
and the old bridge across the Arno
look­ing up towards Ponte alle Grazie
Book­shops that laugh at me
because I’m not in the Marais
and throw a soft arm around my shoulder
when I start to weep hold­ing open the cover flap
of the new Play­ing Beat­tie Bow.
It’s cobble­stones as much as anything.
That and scale, narrow spaces, street tables,
voices and the sweet smells of food on its way.