Quiet Sunday afternoons Without any sunshine Always pour out Servings of nostalgia Time becomes geographic Geometric memories layered With joyous longing Lost friends who Didn't want me Lovers without names Lost between bedsheets Family who expired Before expected dates Dreams that faded Goals since relinquished To urgent immediacy Those artificial deadlines Imposed by bureaucracies This is temporary Washed with rainfall Bleached in sunshine A timely touchstone Of personal shadows From our light
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The Dessert 1877-1879 Paul Cézanne (French, 1839–1906)
