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At the Corner In Annecy

AT THE CORNER IN ANNECY

You said you saw bullfinches; as that morning came too quickly,
on that cobbled corner in Annecy, where the beautiful remnants of last night’s voices were left cold amongst the spilt wasted peanuts and tilting left-over’s of, soured wine. You gazed into those familiar hands, - “that was and is the moment that washed over my goose bumped skin” -  close up almost touching your nose, and whispered that you saw bullfinches mixed in with the things that had passed through those hands.
It was on that cold cobbled corner you hung a fainted - shadow, while slipping sand through my fingers, but the warmth of the feeling came from the hot lemon tea; not your voice, as the strange tongued town awoke, slowly, with the creaking of bicycle wheels and the draft of rushing baker boys. At the rear of your shivering body the whispering hiss of a near bye coffee machine, caught your fleeted glimpse - as it boiled into life, and then again - you said you saw bullfinches; broken minutes later, beneath a stork nested fir, you crumpled down,” to you” the old men - less benches felt cold in the bleak damp morning, but you sat shaking; watching the rippling lake, and maybe ten million heartbeats had passed through you, maybe you counted each, in between the kicking of autumn time leaves; my feet felt wet; then you mumbled softly for a final time, that you saw bullfinches, but the lump in my tightening throat, stopped the reply, of - I could not see them !

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