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.
