leaving la gare du Palais back in August

Just south of the border for as many weeks now as I was in Quebec City this summer I find a drafted poem scribbled on the bus as I was leaving la gare (the bus depot in the railway station). Someone had put soapsuds in the fountain during the night. Here's the fountain without the suds, then the poem as drafted on the bus rolling out:

soap suds in fountain La Gare du Palais blow in morning August like snow weightless someone who resembles Marx, if thinner, waits to cross street and these blocks of rue St. Joseph where this morning one cannot sit with coffee at La Boite du Bon Pain but can cross rue de la Couronne and then Dorchester and then rue Caron stop for le feu rouge and bicyclist and say goodbye a last time for now for this time to le quartier St. Roch headed south with things going south mais nous ne perdrons pas le nord. C'est vrai. Au revoir. August 15, 2012 (No breaks available, I see.)