© 1979

The summer came

like a whisper

dancing

in her hair,

wishing he would

care

and dream

and stop

the carousel

until he heard

her truth

until he brought

her youth

back

laughing

to her eyes,

she wanted him

to realize

she loved him

still

until

too late…

but time

would never

wait,

would never be…

and she was free

for sand castles

and dreams,

the summer schemes

so sweet

so new,

so old…

the story told,

the heavens

blend

the love lives on

’til

summer’s end.

d.s.

Deanna Duras opened one eye to look at the clock as the first light stole in beneath the shades. It was 6:45. If she got up now, she would still have almost an hour to herself, perhaps more. Quiet moments in which Pilar could not attack, or harass; when there would be no phone calls for Marc-Edouard from Brussels or London or Rome. Moments in which she could breathe and think and be alone. She slipped out quietly from beneath the sheets, glancing at Marc-Edouard, still asleep on the far side of the bed. The very far side. For years now, their bed could have slept three or four, the way she and Marc kept to their sides. It wasn’t that they never joined in the middle anymore, they still did… sometimes. When he was in town, when he wasn’t tired, or didn’t come home so very, very late. They still did-once in a while.