at dusk

sun setting on an april day in paris 

I messaged you 

as if I was sending letters

by carrier pigeon 

to an enemy fort 

hidden in the alps 

at first

you were the loud boy on the bus 

with a red lunchbox 

full of day old spaghetti in a dented thermos

and parmesan your dad brought back from italy 

it is morning

defined 

by linen against soft skin

wet grass 

and an orange sunrise

quiet 

from the west

to the east 

a bus is parked