I hold the weight of badge and bone
Zinc rooftops stretch where I have known
The Seine exhales a mist of gray
I keep the chill of dawn at bay
Pigeons coo on mansard slate
My collar turns the damp to fate
Wool and stone we stand alone
Paris wakes but we stay home
No siren calls no radio
Just smoke rings where the cold winds moan
Hymn hums low in alto throat
This wool becomes my altar coat
Dark coffee stain maps arrondissements
Where footsteps paused at intersections
Bullet hole near left breast pocket
Mends slow with every cigarette
Notebook rests on wooden slat
Pen scratches where the pencil sat
Wool and stone we stand alone
Paris wakes but we stay home
No siren calls
