Despite himself, tense the chest offered his work was fresh almond. Whispers at the door the dishes clash the flies mess under the lamp. Removing it was done quickly drunk with laughter at the auction. 370
The white clouds pass by in the sky of Lozère the snow tastes like mother-of-pearl. To the simulacrum of lost children the bell rings the communicants disperse. Twirling the wax doll stick your head through the half-open door.
Rain on the fencetears in her mirabelle eyesthe hand placed on the pommel. Muted timeturn a deaf earin panic the words flee.Staythrough the open doordry flame season. 359
From her lips she haunted the chewing of intentions, A breath came, From superficial, his teeth reflected, at the entrance to the temple, the peristyle of white souls. Filed away the nameless ones of hatred, curled up under the antennae of the earth brother. may we, passengers of oblivion, scrape our last bones, to the rhythm of the mirlitons of childhood.
The Great Game strengthens our past, bringing together the frescoes of our wanderings, obligatory passage, where to plant the eruptive organ, outside the periphery of our illusions.
In the depths of the night the moon hemmed the mountain, dark side beneath the receptacle of our expectations, and everything was returned.
to the ombre, in heat wave open to uplifting thoughts open up to the fevers of novelty open up to the bells of the herd open up to the Sunday meal open up to family photography open the creaking gate open to the cat's meows.
to the ombre in heat wave, know how to ripen without withering know how to receive the word that comes knowing how to give a voice to whoever is there know how to fill the eyes with light know how to smile at who smiles know how to almost smile at who does not smile know how to keep against one's heart the precious of the meeting.
to the ombre, in heat wave, fill with benevolence the brushing of the living fill the tiredness of the moment with a siesta fill with attention the arrival of the child fill the storm of conflict with honey purposely fill the door that opens sweetly fill the scarlet of risk-taking fill the discomfort with a light breeze.
to the ombrein heat wave, thank friendship water glass thank you for being heard thank the apple that crunches under the tooth to thank for having to climb the daily thank the early morning that brings us out of the dark thank the song of field insects thank the time that passes.
to the ombre in heat wave, bring the child to the writing of his future bring the mother to the vigilance of her own bring the father to the bow of the ship bring the old man to the smell of cut hay bring the sky to open between wall and foliage bring a festive air to the hard stone bring life into fellowship.
Vituperating Splint of your voice the star of our loves cry for joy uphill gentle slope of our escape.
Afraid with so much tenderness the soldier turned his gun under the quivering birch of autumn assumption of the ball without the moon going out. Walk walk on the edge of the cliff settle for little close your eyes the spray so low on the horizon of an ultimate feeling.
Call the beadle tell him i'm dying between bellflowers and blueberries under the starry canopy with a superb vault that the storm would have refreshed of its clattering cartage.
Barefoot on the Moor stick well in hand the musette on the shoulder hat covering the ears behind the cows go to the cabin the dog on the trail doing what he wanted from molehill to molehill then raising its earthy muzzle questing eyes towards endless waiting. With reversed forehead recover from Orion's departure to the delights of the day breathe the morning air go smell the pigmented dew grass store two or three objects splash water on the face welcome the thought. And then the meaning to the delirium of meaning in decline to say something worth it who gets to know meaning in the direction assumed sense out of sensation of essential meaning excuse and desire. For air bubble exploded in the open air snap the rainbow against the white screen of a dark room out of mystery to closely assess the accuracy of a sound on the sacred altar muffled whispers enter through the ceremonial door. Dressed in white at the ray of light that appeared be the step on the basalt slab step without haste than the elevation of a song transport to the crossroads of the clouds. Joie, felt in the heart, contact with reality. 354
you come to me late at night on the moon set country woman child of the weeds familiar old man in the mirror under the firefly of memories. look up close to the torch at the temple of expectations. Be Holy Woman rainbow of desires.
Be the child sitting on the edge of the well. Be the forgetful old man to futile thoughts.
Be the wick who lights the fire of being oneself.
Be the pillow of a thousand grains of rice welcoming what comes in wise joy a pinch of salt on the lips arms outstretched in embrace flickering light of the day to come.
