Gertrude Stein in Paris

her straight dark hair cut short & tight 

leaned close toward me,

asking for a light; 

she smoked my name,

exhaled at the start, 

tapped her ashes into my heart. 

we were sitting warm at the best cafe 

on a Paris terrace 

with clear words to say; 

we heard a Piaf song from the boulevard. 

i scribbled je t'aime on a French notecard 

by the Eiffel Tower with a small glass of chilled champagne 

underneath her watchful eyes and 

a soft afternoon rain.

i saw a fine Cezanne 

yet couldn't explain 

why it was hung in a fancy wooden frame? 

while on the Rue de Fleurus 

drinking white wine 

we saw approaching Gertrude Stein,

and she would certainly have the answer.