Bucharest Spring: 1982

Strains of gypsy violins
floated, in aural rhapsody,
on the sumac scented air
of Floreasca Park.
Other lovers
also strolled,
but we were elsewhere-
a place out of time,
where we existed
     only in our eyes.

Cherry blossoms burst
in vernal excitement
in the gardens
of the old Bucur Restaurant.
The open window
by our mezzanine table
with its guttering candle,
admitted a subtle miasma
that focussed our world
     to this eternal moment.

The rain-washed cobbles
of Calea Victoriei
echoed reflected fairy lights,
illuminating the enchanted night.
The Arcul de Triomphe
loomed from the mist,
a monumental signpost
on the magical journey
that would lead us, spell-bound,
     into our shared future.