for Marcelo and Janine 

My teacher tells me, madame
we cannot write that you wept in public 
more than once. This is

not a French sentence. 
Instead let us write that you were moved 
to action. 

For revolutionaries smashed
the stone face of the Virgin 
with the stone face of Saint Denis—

the Virgin a lover, finally!

On streets, I place my hand 
inside pocks 
shot into limestone walls. In bookshops,

lithographs burn palaces, carriages,
and children. The check-in girl refuses 
my identification card. 

Okay. This year I’ve enough 
nods and stamps that this 
does not hurt me. For I have left America.
I have left America! 

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