Same sliver of moon we saw in Paris leaning over the Louvre, shadows on the waters of the Seine. Same trace of an angel, too, in the unlit gibbous. Moon-shadows on the tunnel, the black water, the willow tree, and the young girls singing “Vie en rose” by the Pont du Carrousel. I was wearing a sailor’s dress with a red tie; you were wearing white. The lesser light illumined us all with its scythe.