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1 " What's beyond logic happens beneath will;nor can these moments be translated: i saythat even after Aprilby God there is no excuse for May "
― E.E. Cummings , Is 5
2 " along the brittle treacherous bright streets"along the brittle treacherous bright streetsof memory comes my heart,singing likean idiot,whispering like a drunken manwho(at a certain corner,suddenly)meetsthe tall policeman of my mind.awakebeing not asleep,elsewhere our dreams beganwhich now are folded:but the year completeshis life as a forgotten prisoner-“Ici?”-“Ah non,mon cheri;il fait trop froid” –they are gone:along these gardens moves a wind bringingrain and leaves,filling the air with fearand sweetness….pauses. (Halfwhispering….halfsingingstirs the always smiling chevaux de bois)when you were in Paris we met here "