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France
August 16, 2011
I know the feeling of this country
It grows on me once again
Imperceptibly
For a month, a week
A day
And when the time comes to shed it, I
Become aware of it, as
It grows steadily smaller and
Slips away
I watch it with
Some kind of
Longing laced with sadness
Until it floats behind a cloud
And hides,
And disappears.
And I look down onto
A glistening, glittering sea of
Gently stolen tears -
The tears of those like me who
Left,
Afraid they might
Never come again.
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