First Poem!

Hello! I was on a flight from Costa Rica to Miami and I had an idea for a poem so I wrote it down on the back of my copy of 1984. This is without revisions or anything. It's not even titled yet.



Untitled

I'm wrting my dreams down on
shredded napkins (at a restaurant
in Paris) rolling them up, throwing them into
the gust,
to be carried by the wind, like
dandelion seeds.
Then I wonder:

Has a dandelion ever made it within
the city limits of Paris? Perhaps, clasped
between the fingers of a four year old?
Or pressed to the palms of two lovers?

Did they let their dreams float through
Parisian side streets to be kissed by rays
of the sun, Haloed by neon signs in windows,
choked by cigarettes?

Did they dream?

I'm writing my future and my past down
on bark and dry sticks, destined
for the fire, without care.

I realize:

The only thing that matters is the sweet
present that the Present is.