Good evening Monsieur Fournier, your raclette—
I haven’t had better
My grandpa was a builder, made castles and roads,
but never even fried an egg.
Your herbal liqueur, Madame Nicolette, you poured for me
without even asking permission.
The cardamom scent in your braid, perhaps from the bakery,
above which you keep a room.

Into yesterday this day sets
and nobody yet
gets out, when flames
are still making shadow plays

Give me half, give me half, give me half give me half
please give me half
of your own dreams, which you found while you were sleeping,
give me half, give me half, give me half, give me half
please give me half
of what you dreamed about, what you hid under the pillow
give me half, give me half, give me half, give me half
please give me half
because that is what I get, half of what you dream
give me half
please give me half
so that from your dreams my ugly side fades

Your sundry shop’s ridiculous window:
we’ll never see it again.
When I ask you for directions on the corner,
you already know:
we’ll never see it again.
“Check, please” and “thank you” and I trace the scrawl of my signature:
we’ll never see it again
pink scuff marks in the hotel foyer:
we won’t see them again

This day just now set into yesterday
and so I’m certain
I really have to
carry along only the good things