(sixth version)

We will never take the train from Lyon

my eyes shining like the lights of Lyon

never grow old young before the same window

That must be Jupiter

and that one’s Venus

just there above the cut-out cathedral

tonight they’ll cross what do we ever

know

We were eating bread

my face was covered in flour

my eyes crying like the gulls of Lyon

careful you said or you’ll make a batter

Then you stepped onto the balcony

and far across a city street

I came out too

I held up my hand

between us the span of a funambulist’s rope

We are deathly creatures deathly sad aware of our deaths –

pas besoin d’être fort en philosophie pour comprendre incompossibilité

so tell me now

how old do you want to be

I’ll be eight

She and I stand holding bouquets

robust green stems that cost the eyes of your head

yellow flowers, succulents, your wife yellow-haired,

watchful in the half-dark

Through breaching streets you whistled me home

the whirlwind the gyres vicissitudes

Le tourbillon de la vie

the planets pass but no one sees

(seventh version)

We will never take the train from Lyon

my eyes shining like the lights of Lyon

never grow old young before the same window.

In the third dream she and I both hold

bouquets. Yellow flowers, succulents,

your wife yellow-haired, watchful in the half-dark.

Le tourbillon de la vie

the planets pass but no one sees