Same sliver of moon we saw in Paris leaning over the Louvre,

                                              shadows on the waters of the Seine.

Same trace of an angel, too, in the unlit gibbous.

Moon-shadows on the tunnel, the black water, the willow tree,

                           and the young girls

            singing “Vie en rose” by the Pont du Carrousel.

I was wearing a sailor’s dress with a red tie;

                                                     you were wearing white.

The lesser light illumined us all with its scythe.