It was a small thing, really

In the cafe,

Hardly hearing me.

I held out a feather, soft

Not really useful, 

But holding it up.

Whether you took it or not

Is by the by. 

What mattered was the difference

Between true and lie.

To ourselves, to each other

We know the answers,

Aren’t willing to believe them.

We know the timing isn’t perfect

Yet we stop at the meaning, 

We see it, congealing.

I stood in front of the Manet 

And felt it. The blue and the white

The gunpowder, I could smell it.

The sound of rifles, the shouting

The panic. It’s only once you know,

Once that you can handle it.

Lies are like wishes, bleeding out

each causing hope- but three times now,

Abandoning it, standing it.

___

“There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved.”

(Il n'y a qu'un bonheur dans la vie, c'est d'aimer et d'être aimé.)

George Sand