Les Faits D’Hiver
That at every moment
The fog lowers,
Meeting the smoke of the century.
Woollen legs are pulled through storm drains
And disappear through grates
Where there are cups of tea and meringues at 11am
And a twinkling blue light.
The dreams mix and fold into each other
By bakers on le rue des Petites-Ecuries.
There’s a dream of a country house at Fontenay-aux-Roses
Where seasons are stored in a glasshouse
Summer bees, fall grey skies, snow dirtied by Parisian boots,
Spring trees in flower, and for good measure,
All seasons of mist and fine rain.
A young woman dreams of baking her sorrows
To ashes. She carries them in a flowered tin box
To the canal banks where she
Releases them as canoes glide past
Piloted by two men in képi.
From Aix to aux chemin
Dreams fall from clouds and fog
They hide in private rooms where
Loving speaks not words of love
But simply loves, for
The words are not the act;
The act is love.
Careless angels fall from the roof peaks,
And breaking their legs on cobble streets
Laugh and rise through the fog and clouds.
Les Faits D’Hiver was written in 1904 by Paul Poissel. It is a series of dreams, all dreamed by people in and around Paris during the winter of 1881. it is a fictional account of the imaginary lives of people who may or may not be real.