With four hands
Show me the thumb is missing
And that the alpha and the omega
Are no relief
That in case of sharing.       
 
full beard
Little mouth without lips
I saw that February night again
Greyhounds of my childhood
Currents across fields.    
 
My tattooed body
Masterful waves of Gavrinis
Wise ripples appeared to me
In the bay of Morbihan
On the rise of the tide.        
 
Shapely head
Haloed by a monetized bistouille
I believe in a happy God
Eye to eye
At the fraternal passage of the recumbents.        
 
And comes to me
The pruritus caused
By the long seat
waiting in the sun
flapping wings
Like little arms
In the shade of the ash trees
At the south gate
of the building
immaculate son
Earth eyelids
Half resurrected
Along the horizon
To hold the real
Thick and strong
Under the span of the two worlds
One delicate and willing
The other proud to have found the key
Words the essential order    
Dressed in a suit of circumstance
Sometimes touched
But carrying snow
On the ashes of oblivion
That the imagination incinerates
In times of great loneliness
In the east of each face
Recalling the rock
Topped by the lighthouse    
On the other side of the presence.    
 
 
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