So it started to rain    
 that I live to see them    
 these piccotis on the glass    
 this life force    
 with a cheerful face.        
  
 The wind comes from the spirit    
 and the house fills with a breath    
 à demeure des souvenirs    
 to clothes changed over time    
 without the heart stumbling.        
  
 A plat sur la toile cirée    
 the geometry of things past    
 sing like a long necked rooster    
 in delight with the sound    
 heating that starts again.        
  
 By hand no ring    
 wise mark of promises    
 the smile hopes for a burst of light    
 to celebrations found light    
 le canisse effleurant le pas de porte.        
  
 Ni mission    
 ni missive    
 with Prussian blue gaze    
 that language obliterates    
 through the dark and slippery streets.        
  
 In the face of an advance    
 out of the hole    
 the gesture of good people    
 cooperate without regret    
 without hurrying.        
  
 One head among others    
 and hands    
 full of hands with outstretched fingers    
 out of the inoculated sky    
 tender kisses with curled lips.        
  
  
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