I heard you in a winter dust, ablated days and overcast mirages uttered in a lost impression of the voice with which you sang to me before the snow had settled, the mended words of memoirs edited in fall when everything was dying so the sentence on a withered leaf was true.

I felt you touch the evening just before it broke and saw the flush of skin I recognize in rose-hues stealing blue from daytime til it’s black.

I listen now from somewhere barely on the velum of a dream, but I no longer hear you sing to me, and when I wake to lucid skies there are no clouds to coax a memory because I left you there in winter, so I lie awake and wait the season’s change.

#Paris #France

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