91.

The white cliffs above Cassis

Conceal the ache of exile after months here

The winter-spring of the changing light, voices

Of my children vanished by the coast: gone

Like traces, love on the run, nature turning

The sun-wind whispering through olive leaves

And friends, their laughter, fleeting like mythology.

The train hissing around the bend as only French trains

Can. The also-rans and run-ons of breath

And texture bend around corners. These moments

Break out of my lungs and fingers: the song

Of words will not leave me alone. The haze

Over the green land wraps itself out of focus

But in spots the sun is as clear as love.