Monsieur Renault Ponders Consequences

I know he listens to Madame
and me when we linger
over our glasses
and in our yesterday voices
tell the old tales.

He leans his ears
toward our chairs
to hear more about her—
and I let slip so little.
I have so little.

To say she is the daughter
of the sun is heresy,
according to Père Lemieux,
but the blood still flows
like a river through me—

a tide coming in! and I
could tell the sad musician
about that vision in the marsh,
the woman who still
visits my dreams,

a shadow made
entirely of light.