At times, and without a breath moving it
All the nearly incense-colored outdatedness --
As furtively and visibly I feel
The stone widow unveiled by it fold by fold --

Floats or seems by itself not to prove anything
Except to apply time’s antique balm
To the suddenness of our new friendship –
We, age-old, people so happy

O dear ones, we met in Bruges, which was never commonplace
It multiplied the dawn over the old canal
With the scattered sails of many a swan

When solemnly that city taught me
Which among her sons another flight had chosen
To quickly spread as well the wing-like spirit

10/11/08