Dancing
underneath city lights,
jazz bands
reverberating, breathing in
voodoo shop
musk.

Soul
pulsates beneath
cobblestone,
wide eyes
peering up at
beaded balconies on
Frenchman Street.

Freedom is
coffee and baguettes from
Cafe Du Monde at
midnight,
surrounded by strangers.

Find me under strings of
flickering bulbs,
trading trails with
travelers.

Candlelit doorways illuminate the drifters, the curious, the backpackers,the Kerouacs,
the way to the gypsies past
Bourbon.

But not home.