Her Toenails Painted Pink

I dream I’m in a Parisian café With a dark-haired girl Wearing a yellow skirt revealing Photographic sensual legs That would later make me cry All night in bed still pondering them. I have so many of these Intoxicating fantasies, Massaging her delicate feet And kissing her toes With her toenails painted pink. But then I find myself alone somewhere On an impoverished street, And I mostly see old ladies or poor kids Riding their bikes on weed-infested sidewalks, And I don’t reject but relish and celebrate the contrast, It is all the poetry of God’s scattered Beautiful humanity, As if you could gather Every amazing flower petal On a single flower.