How to Speak French

Only you know about the butterflies.
You descend on Paris with a sharp haircut
and economical baggage. He is there at the gate,

his face illuminated, and he gasps
at the sight of you. He seizes you,
and you plunge. You know the verb etre,

and you say, je suis fatigue.
It's the simple truth: you are tired.
And as you make your way to his car

the fear follows with assertive feet:
there is nothing more to be said.
You freeze. The polyglot talk

around you is ribbons, too knotted
for your unravelling. You know the verb aimer.
For safety's sake, you say it: je t'aime.