I know somewhere the sun appears
To break these moonlit days,
These makeshift winters
Weeping in the portraits drawn
By passing rains, whose
Ashen imprints realize
My likeness, but in drying
Puddles, and their ripples
Speak of prospects
Blotted out and of
A passion grown diffuse.

I know an end to this opaquely
Rendered course of cryptic
Payoffs lost in goals
Too thinly spread to be
Much more than mist
And sketchy outcomes.

It’s just that here the clouds are thick.

#Paris #France

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