Remembered is bad weather on that day;
Champs-Elysees is shining in the rain.
The sun returns and Scott and I discuss
how characters will often write themselves.
We wait for Zelda but she never shows.
Upon our walk, discuss all that’s profane
and then the rain begins to fall again.
And with it colors flame out gold and brown.
Muffled, intermittent talk; the mustiness
of leaves will scatter where we take our walk.
I see Scott’s face appear among the stars;
the waiter holding high our tray of drinks.
We share the sundown with a friendship formed.
In quiet, drunken whispers all must end
as towards midnight everything’s a fog.
Before the dawn and sudden rush of morn
recall the feast of conversation borne.
(Hemingway quote: “If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”)