L’heure bleue

 

 

The boats rock gently, the day falls silent, and pure blue descends like a cloak. There is a swan out in the middle of the harbor.  The travel lift winches up the last boat, and the swan turns about in the wake before settling again.

I am drinking whiskey, watching the swan, who is watching me.

And the night came on, it was very calm

I wanted the night to go on and on

But she said, go back, go back to the world.

 

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