mercredi 30 janvier 2008

Missing the moment

They never look at me sneeze,
They know how I sound
They all have felt it : the
Whooshing train for
Which you have waited so impatiently,
So easily riding through your
Fingers, slippering away, like
The spaghetti off my fork, making
The pool of sauce splash
On my shirt, but I can't find
It anymore, how can I possibly
Recover it among this collection
Of identical copies.
Or a cat falling off a roof.
They've all heard it but they've
Never actually seen the eyes.

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