German Officer And French Woman In Occupied France Poem by Bernard Henrie

Moist night, shimmering night,
her emerald dress folds ‘round
with each step. Her gown blows open
showering me with divine scent;
wind pours over Paris like a thug
roughing hair, a chop on the Seine,
ripples of a swimming girl and boy.

In a quick French she says:

I regret not being able
to understand your poems.

The impression is of a delicate
fish breathless in shallow water.

Somewhere, English scout planes
search for our U-Boats;
inexpressible loneliness falls,
a sun beam glints on the wings.

A grief breaks over the scallops,
an American set of drums, piano,
and jazz fiddle playing the Bach
Prelude and Fugue in B flat minor.