.
So it takes very little indeed: a brasserie with Beaujolais 1968 Reserve
and small inside terraces (as pleasant as they are impossible to find here),
with a horseshoe-shaped bar counter and fake candles winking their
wicked yellow, with servings of snails and baby goat prepared comme il faut;
and we discover ourselves very cursedly latin,
no doubt about it, with other desires, other moods (and full of
good thoughts: prosperous, pulpy, and pagan);
so it happened that yesterday, October 3rd, glancing
about me a bit and observing a Germanic sampling of chewing couples,
I discovered that all women are latin, along all parallels and meridians;
(and what warm soft winds of departure blew by then, filling the sails
of our old hearts, in the darkening port of Wittenbergplatz!)
