There\'s the one who stays
with the legacy of a life
whispered in a glance .
We are only the tenants
of our memories
in those little things
that smell lavender
hanging over funerals...
Faded bouquet on the sentiment
of a yellowed sepia...
When noon no longer rings
at the mailman\'s crossing ,
the dog\'s bowl empty
and the canaries have donned
their night bird garb ...
We fall asleep in the other\'s void
like echo of a fading voice
evening chamomile is just a page of history...
This search for a few fixed habbits
in the little crosses of the diary ...
\'\' Where are you my dear ?\'\'
\'\' Your green umbrella always accompanies me
to celebrate your marble birthday ! \'\'
\'\' I won\'t forget this little cross ! \'\'
\'\' Sometime I think ...one morning,
I\'d like to be in summer ...And you\'ll come back ! \'\'
Telling me :
\'\' I am here my dear ! \"
\'\' lets frolic in our newfound youth ! \'\'