Describe the light, insists the prod within,
that makes the city famous. Paris lit
electrically, like varnish on live skin,
does not impress this visitor a bit.
But something in the valley of the Seine
makes sunlight feel two miles thin and high
as mountain tops, like oil on a pane
of glass, or watercolor almost dry.

It seems the air is light and light in air
suspended is like raindrops on a limb.
The streets are clogged with cars, the bikers wear
protective masks, but here the glow’s a hymn
to heaven. Every edifice in sight
refracts the soft elixir of the light.