crossing paths

it seemed odd that
the adulterous wife by camus
would cross paths
with a cabana table
of french speakers
on sombrero beach
marathon florida
     call it serendipity
french tongues landing
from quebec
just as the page turns
on the wife
slipping out from her husband’s bed
running through the night
weaving through the narrow streets
and burnooses
to lie down on the highest floor
of a fort
in 1950s algeria
her arms wide open
breathing at last
with the stars
and cold stone walls

--- e b bortz