Paris '73 (for Helen)

Quick, slow traffic bustles in never-ceasing streams
along the summer highway,
taking tight corners as if
tomorrow was too late:
edging forward the few further yards
that herald the difference
between now and a moment hence.

And we take our place in the queues,
among the congestion and the screaming traffic jams,
where life still moves so very quickly,
and the corners turned and crossroads passed
are too numerous to recall,
so by sheer number they determine that
there can be no returning now,
even if we wished it