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There, almost

By Robert L. Brimm / November 20, 1998



I dream of London,

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Rome, sometimes Paris,

strolling their streets

on a spring day,

listening to voices

spilling like clear water

over rounded stones,

feeling the whisk of wind,

touch of rain, the quiet

of a hailed cab, tires

smacking puddles

on the curving streets,

tasting the food

in a warm cafe, tables

draped and waiting,

as though they knew,

all along, I'd be there.