While the birds are yet silent, and the growing light has banished the moonlight's shadows, I listen to the faint sound of a brief, soft breeze, and then a shower of leaves that were unable to withstand even this slight stirring of the air. It is like the sound of old paper being crumpled in some room down a hallway of an old and otherwise silent house.
I do not wait to hear the woodpeckers wake, but carry the thought of the leaves' surrender back to my room, and let the chattering day take its course.
by Pierre Reverdy
Did the same Car carry me away I see where you came from You turn your head Midnight On the moon Just struck At the street corner Everything is turned around I saw her face Even her hands The last star Is in the garden Just like the first Think of tomorrow Where will they be The thoughtless dead When the wall vanishes The sky will fall
Two more mild days, and then rain.