I did not yet know
Swann would understand my pain–
love the messenger

but the messenger
might be the sole ally–
“There is no answer.”

sitting on the foot
of my bed waiting for her–
silence

still moonlight–
seeming to be elsewhere,
precise muted strings

eyes glued to mother–
finding the exact spot
to place my kiss

missing my kiss,
I leave my heart with mother–
the stairs’ varnished smell

Would Françoise carry
a message to my mother?
complex etiquette

lying to Françoise
to deliver my message–
the sealed envelope

Maulévrier’s handshake,
ignorance or cozenage?
Swann notes Saint-Simon

forthcoming anguish
insulated from feeling–
iron table