Bus 60 riverbanks

In this shroud of melted snow 

when regrets struck like a blow,

I took your hand full of a story to come

while the frozen crowd went home ...

The next moment  the bus was leaving

and the last page of the novel  closing ,

living statue of your  extinct warmth ,

empty  desire of  your absent  arms ...

The sky dressed colour drabness ,

in my spirit, mismatch  and mess ...

 We give alms of our nights to destiny,

  but dead loves inspiring  no charity ...

An old oath gatherer who looked like death

 scattering  the reliefs of their final breath ...

Time  always takes away  venison  and passions,  

bus 60  raven banks in motion for next  illusions ...

A strong man  in the cold , never crying !

This damn' dirty snow on my eyes crystallizing...