Artists and models,
pimps and prostitutes,
writers and muses,
the noted and the nameless,
in stark black and white.

Under the street lamp,
A stout woman with a dangling cigarette,
her shadow trailing into the dark.
I need a warm place to stay tonight.

On the banks of the Seine,
The lamplighter, making his rounds,
creates the mystery of night

Stairs leading down the hill,
into the fog, into the night.
Gas lamps lighting the way,
for someone who is yet to come.

Lovers in a brightly lit cafe,
sharing a drink and a kiss,
a stolen moment,
oblivious to all else.

Rain and the street glistens
adorned by umbrella blossoms.
Long shadows cast by a rainy city garden.

Matisse and his models.
The Four Arts Ball,
Henry Miller, Picasso,
The Follies-Bergere,

The master himself,
eye to camera,
cigarette dangling,
snap-brim in place,
calf length overcoat on a Parisian street,
recording life as it passes by
A time machine, a graphic history,
all is there for us.

The Paris of our dreams.