By Thomas Page
This is a series of poems of words that do not directly translate into English. I have tried to capture the essence of the word in a poem.
St. Denis’ labyrinth is welcome to little ulysseses
Looking to find nothing in particular
But to melt time into gold of sorts,—
To have some moment free from shadows in the brilliant light of the afternoon.
Wandering minds and hearts
Like sponges to beauty in its faintest forms along the Seine.