The “N” on a Bridge

by Duane Locke

E-mail to Damniso Lopez 154

The “N”
On a bridge
Over the Seine
Rises, falls,
Slides sideways,
Becomes an oval
In the opacity
Of my peaceful thoughts
As I am near
The odor
Of coffee being roasted
At the coffee roaster.

The “N”
Comes back
As a contour,
Curves, still
Over a flowing river,
And turns
Vague like smoke
In a smoke signal,
An unrecognizable signal
From an unseen destination
As I smell coffee roasting,
As I sip cognac
From Crimea,
Feel
The stability of solitude
As a wanderer
In the preverbal.

The “N”
Tells me
About
The Lucretian pleasure
Of not going to see
A movie
About lovers
In Tunisia,

About the Lucretian pleasure
Of not talking
About
Jacques Lacan
Or Julia Kristeva.

About the supreme joy
Of not talking
With anyone
About anything,
Just smelling
The roasting of coffee,
Sipping Crimean cognac.