In Saint-Mère-Eglise, at the bridges of Ranville, Oudemer and Benouville on the moss of the trenches and silent craters.

The reply is on the longest day.

If the band plays, it is simply a sign of a consecrated celebration. And if the hammers spy on the bell, the skirts press tightly beneath the breasts and the bow parades around the neck. Flowers in threes and crumpled leaves are reflected on the nervous steps of young, scented women and ruling princes, with needle and thread between their fingers. If they never went, it is only because they do not know they have returned. Like owls at dawn, that make their verse at thunder and twist frogs on the edge of ridiculous etchings. If they have not left yet, it is only because they do not know they have already arrived. Like worms in the evening, that mime on show and spy on the rain-worms on the stages of mass debates.
Does memory have only one eye?

" The molasses tomorrow will be cognac. John has a long moustache. Sabrina has mumps and jaundice. The war of Troy will not be waged. The bracelet enhances your charm. The die are on the carpet. The sun shines high in the sky. The lock of the gate has broken. Edward's bitch had five lovely puppies on 7th January. Daphne urges. The fire at the travel agency: it is not necessary to go. Les sanglots longs / Des violons / Des l'automne / Blessent mon coeur / D'un langueur / Monotone. Love Siamese cats ".

The foggy beaches of Normandy tear up geometric hordes of war ships on the horizon, and nostalgia measures the times for the event recently announced on the bridges.

"My father always took me camping in the Blue Mountains in June. Hunting and fishing all day long, sleeping beneath the stars even without any covers by night.
When did he leave you?
One week, no, two. Perhaps I was wrong to write to her so; you know, she is indeed a model with class. But if only you knew what wonderful hours we spent together!
And you think that she has a friend?".

Between the Vire and the Orne, at sunset, the Atlantic Wall and the Festung Europa, finally, violated at Le Hamel and StAubin, in LionsurMère and Rivabella, in Vierville and Colleville. Flames and dead men. Rain and wind. "The men, frozen, drenched, numbed and weakened by sea-sickness said Stephen Webbe moved awkwardly in the water to be hit by raking fire from mortar and machine guns". And then Paris, Rome, Berlin and the swastikas, the chevaux de Frise, the tanks and oxidized bunkers.

The memory settles on the wind's pleated cloak, blind, limping on the dirt bends of the past and on the resinous paths of boredom, it is possible, to gather the crumbs of the yellow beak of days. Dreams and illusions have no face or sense in the jester's tricorn hat and when the shadows correct the graffiti of the last polar bears, the word twists around the stems of whitish marble, and the sand slips the bronze of the struck irons and burnt emotions. And if the virgin bows for the last poppy of spring, hidden among the piles of snakes, the lizards attune the harp and the barbed wires rest, powerless, without creases and knots.

For the veterans, the survivors, the witnesses, the impatient intelligences, who are able to cry for the hours that could not be lived, for the young people used to the long winter wakes, for the reporters matured from the tales of the old, an appeal is made to the conscience to remember the still sound of the days that are no more.

  "Queen, you ask me to renew a suffering
  inexpressible; you order me to tell how the Greeks
  destroyed Troy, its riches, its kingdom
  worthy of tears, and tell you all the sad things
  that I saw with my own eyes and in which I took such a great part
  I took part! Who could hold back
  the tears at such a tale, even if he were
  a soldier of tough Ulysses or Myrmidon and Dolopes?
  And already the damp night falls from the sky,
  the stars, setting, beckon us to sleep".

And the memories that never return?

The pure ritual of the memory is the cry of one alone, who sings without an orchestra, throngs of rebelling pentagrams. And when a white veil uncovers a new monument, the forefathers of the overwhelmed generations, standing on the edge of endless limits, sway and whiten impossible returns and memories.