Sky blue balloons; outside, the weather’s grey;
on stage the Dame is wailing. In the bar
all’s quiet for the moment: I draw breath,
for everything is difficult today,
and even you are bending underneath
this weight of terminal decline though, Dear,
you show more strength than I who weep often.
Blue balloons: the Mediterranean
sky in your cotton shirt as you waited
on the long platform when I first visited:
the moment when everything was to come
and I looked down the length of the train
and was the only one writing a poem
(that also was for you) as I arrived.