The fourth poem observing summer on the Cote d’Azur:
I sat down on the blue chair to eat a red apple by the azur sea.
The wind blew the plaintive sax-sound through the sun and time slowed And slowed.
Moving on, I dropped the gold coin into the black box in thanks.
Later, I found a pink and yellow perfect dress – and because it was there I bought it, put it on, and returned to the blue chair to pay homage, in colour, to the sound of something half remembered:
Something white.
