Deja vu, Pas de deux

memories tucked into a blousey sleeve of non-reasoning-
because we can feel

everything bubbling up in some kind of nervous tragic comedy
makes our humanity swoon possible

at no cost to the thread baring pas de deux-
by the handsome french doors, opening up

to the river seine- seen in films, slide shows,
and most savored in dreams

where lovers are known to stay with you
for the duration of the holiday

racing around fountains, diving adroitly--
more frequently than bunnies in spring

for the crushed velvet paramour-- who's standing across
the street, singing gregorian chants in the rain