Ah! que le monde est grand à la clarté des lampes!
        Aux yeux du souvenir, que le monde est petit.
                                                                       Baudelaire, `Le Voyage'

A child who thought departure would be sweet,
I roam the borders of my neighbourhood
dominical, diminished. Young gay men
their elbows brushing, Sunday-stroll, in pairs
on their way to the weekend flea-market
on the boulevard Richard-Lenoir
at Oberkampf. I sit in a café
nursing a decaf. A small Chinese boy
(or girl) in sweats stands on tiptoes to reach
the flippers of the `Space Pirates' machine.
I want to find some left turn into dream
or narrative, next chapter, memory
not saturated with regret, into
...