Last night beyond an ashy sky a premonition spoke. Its quiet song was written in between a breaking cloud where might have been a beam of light had sun been there to hear. But darkness trapped its voice behind eclipses, and the broken silence fell on ears asleep and dreaming of a lighter composition, of a more familiar lyric sung to pleasant chords attending optimistic tellings of the omen roiling up above. Words anticipated in the thunderclaps of building weather, easily ignored predictions in a sermon spoken whisper-thin when constellations can’t break through the tiers of overcast, insensate words incanted powerfully in bitter winds too high to hear when sleeping but unceasing still and cold above the atmosphere I breathe.

Do I listen for the harbinger of evenings in the winter, expose my fragile concept of a warmer day to symptoms blown in stronger winds I’d rather passed me by? Do I disregard the final verses and repeat the chorus like I’ve always done, as if the song can only end when I acknowledge that I’m past the bridge and all that’s left is the refrain to echo stolid as the raindrops pelting rhythms on the window like my fading pulse?

#paris #france #seine

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