Je t’aime. I love the idea of you. The rain poured softly out, brushing against the windowpane. Out on the wet grass she quietly answered, silk skirt clinging, drops rolling down the folds. The summer’s end stalked insects through the damp leaves. I know you asleep, your hair tangled careless on the pillow. Alone with the lavender sky, examining the icy stars, each complication melting on the sill. Her cold hands were content, waiting for nothing. Outside everything was watching the snow. Sunday morning coffee, we awaken to the spoons and sugar cubes. Growing into the green light, braiding the willows together, the winter-stilled brook beside her rushed in shouting to carry off broken twigs. Painted toes splashed in the puddles. The cool slate sidewalk Held on to her footprints when she passed. Óu êtes-vous, amour? Our circle is not yet complete.