(Poem by Wendy Howe)
see also the french version

She looks toward Paris
as evening light
rinses her back and shoulders,
a bone-smooth island
soaked in memory.

Years drift
along the skyline
reaching a domed roof
she knows very well.

The old opera house,
was discreet, loaned her
intimate shelter.

Carpets lounged in Persian wool,
walls in pale cream, and her body
in the passion of an affair.

Time lingered, slid through shadows
like a hand playing chords
of a Spanish guitar. Night disrobed
the music of words. She loved
the sound of his voice
blending into hers; but never thought
the last note would become--

ink on silk, her penmanship
composing fate
in poignant curves of blue --
Adieu, Mon Cherie !

© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail:Wendy Howe
To know more about Wendy Howe

(Drawing by Marie-France Rivière)


© 2011, Marie-France Rivière.

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