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her first tutu -named prima ballerinashe remembers  

ashes scatteredin her eyes the memoriesscrolling

le jour de sa fêteson Coeur de Marie refleuri –le sien ne bat plus the day of her feast-dayher Heart of Mary blooming again –hers does not beat anymore

the gypsy knife grindershoutingwords of yore

in her eyesall the misery of the world ...for a piece of cheese

from a wave to anotherwanderingher melancholy

by the wavesher memories rocked –the tender grass

neither collar nor leashthe stray dog– the call of spring

missingand yet so presentthe young neighbour

some notes –the old accordionistresurrects Paname