Laurel DeCou

     

Un moment s'il vous plaît. Ou plus. Breathe slowly and release the burned part into the
atmosphere. Like tar oozing from the cracks under a mid-day sun. We do not step on the
cracks yet her back is still broken. Before learning to drive the wheel spun constantly 
and the brake shifted places underfoot. Quand les fleurs ont ouvert, nous avons arreté.
Et puis, elles sont mortes. Cette maison regarde le rue avec peur.  The windows hide beneath their roofs. The voices ring out and fill the spaces like cobwebs we walked through in the half-light of a star cutting through the fog laden branches. You lost us and I lay my head on a rock until morning.

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