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So much left out of the picture.

See the little houses gathered

around the cathedral like girls

making their First Communion,

notice how the old church leans

toward the town as if listening

to its whispered confessions.

I am standing in the church's shadow

as I write you this note,

a shadow it has thrown

on this town for centuries,

watching the night erase this scene

like a drawing on a blackboard,

a message scribbled hastily:

only postcard days are forever.