Three D Poem

Panic at a pic-a-nic
reaching over the ants
for the cornbread
my stomach doesn’t need this
blurting out from my tee shirt…

…in mists of dawn no one thought
they’d ever see again, the shattered
landscape flowering with determination,
a possibility of balance once more…

…at the café on Rue Bouland,
perfect jour de printemps, her hair
in the breeze, the whistle from a
potato cart, bad news from the East.