Pas de Baisers Volés
These would be scenes from one of those French films
where nothing much is said but we look down
deserted, shabby-genteel avenues.
Indoors the routine measures out the day
but stolen glances caught on camera
imply a narrative not happening
while mountains far away covered in snow
catch other sunlight in different time zones,
unvisited and the more beautiful
for that. But, no, we are not nouvelle vague
and we shall not be lovers. Whatever
would have happened instead is what will be.