I drove through the city of her
With a face so different,
She wouldn’t recognize
Me.
I went home as her husband
And sat at the table
Ate like him, bitter like him,
So that she couldn’t tell
It was me.
In the morning, I played like
Her child and cooed in the cot
In the voice of Gabriel,
So that she wouldn’t admit
How mundane I was.
I know little :
She moved through this day
Oblivious to
The choreography.
Each time she paused,
She could tell.
Image credit : Grace Kelly on the beach in Jamaica by Howell Conant, 1954
Frédéric Benqué 