Its silhouette is a signpost for dreamers.
Naked against sky, its spindly bones
Appear more skeleton than castle
But its crisp arches envelop lace wings,
A scaffold of silvery triangles
In ripening twilight, it pins Paris to earth.
Shadows spill from its crescent rafters,
Drenching the city in the tender cool of evening
And weighing darkness on a scale of steel and stars.
I long to engrave my palms with its print
And twine my veins to take its shape,
To harbor its frame
In the arch of my lungs
Lattice of fissures and tissue and vessels
Feeding air to the restless pulse of my heart.