This Poem was Submitted By: John R. Birkbeck On Date: 2001-05-19 17:24:33 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Of Love For Montreal

I looked down the street where you used to live, and almost saw you come  out of your front door. I did not see you at early mass, nor did I meet you at the cafe with the blue window drapes and the empty parrot cage. You were not at the bird market, nor did you buy violets from  the old woman with the mole, who still stands at her corner. I looked skyward to the clouds and wondered if you were there, and I remembered how you'd say, "Oui" like an inhaled whisper. Your last words to me were, "To forgive is the worst of deceits," and the last sound I heard from you was your careless little chuckle. In the International Lounge at the aeroport I endured time passing at its own tempo,  my memories gone into hiding. At a higher altitude I dozed and the plane hung still in the sky, aimed toward my own horizon. When nearest you I was the most far away.

Copyright © May 2001 John R. Birkbeck

Additional Notes:
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