place de la mairie crisp
december morning walking
past the flower stalls deep
shade in rue des cordeliers
plastic birds spinning
above the toyshop door
there is so much time
there is too much time
there is not enough time
there are so many
there are too many
there are not enough
promises to keep
and two months on
encircling each other
like voice and melody
there is truth
there is half-truth
there is no truth just
othello and desdemona
dumb iago somewhere
in the mountains
and a chocolate rose
begins to wither
in a cold white jar