A Memory of the Future

Bright days like lucky love or 

lucky to be in love 

with you. Like the moon, 

in shadow, I will rest awhile. 

Days spent by the Seine

or in the Sun, how lovely the shade of green 

when it is coming off your eyes. 

Taking pictures of our hands, holding hope 

whatever they build will continue to grow 

long after we wither. Like wheat fields, 

swaying tall. Or bending to whatever path

takes us next, 

to the city 

where we will live, for a while

under squared meters, always enough, 

even if the kitchen was small. Orange 

cabinets and green floors, painting 

the ceilings, at towering heights. 

Overlooking the trees and fields, 

we never could leave behind 

closed doors,

our farthest adventures.

The breeze begins and the vines creep in

the window. To another life, 

we must return, calling it a dream, 

reality was only so sweet, 

looking at it from within.