Stolen Heart
I stood on the cobbled street
at midnight - gentle wafts of the Cassis vineyards
dancing on air, mixing, not unpleasantly,
with the bite of late December,
(reminding me fondly of my days writing in Paris,
and the trips my love and I made
to the countryside on long weekends,
for picnics and rest).
The sweet lull of a small choir
floated tenderly from the chapel nearby -
'O little town of Bethlehem' ...
coaxing even more poignant thoughts of childhood,
Christmases in the little church by the lake,
when all that mattered was
held inside my family's home at night,
warm and cared for and safe.
I looked up at the sharp glints
of winter suns, thinking how each
was a true-but-intangible thread of light
that tied me inexorably to all I needed and loved -
to all that I cared or worried about in the world now,
no matter where she had been taken away to ...
No matter where I now had to follow
to win her back.
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