Lyric

Don't let's forget that the little emotions are the great captains of

our lives, and that we obey them without knowing it.

Van Gogh, to his brother Theo

First flakes of winter seen through glass

of a train that takes me to school.

Wren, confused, who sings at night

in the glade, and I wake glad

to be uncertain where I am.

In another room my father speaks

in low tones not to wake me-

but I am cool, the fever past,

and the voice a caress.

Under the boughs of the copper beech

shade so deep that I only see

the bright lawn I have left.

My child chanting himself to sleep.

I do not turn the page of my book.

Each day ending like this:

my hand in hers as we accept

our time for dreams,

and the Landscape with Bridge

keeps its place all night.

Poplars are bordered blue,

cows graze at ease near a river,

and each second that shimmers

with leaves and invisible stars

is a small poem.