If elsewhere
and intimate
at fingertips
come and die
The country that resembles you
under the consumed spasm
Jean
my friend of the Spirit
my cross
my cry.
On the ground
in the dust
the star reflects
the mysterious song
on the run
across the worlds.
François
my friend of the hoodlums
my way
my deliverance.
342
Silence of plants~
on the white blue sidelines of a train
that the wind blows.
*
Stuck on a hill
the domino of houses
~ devil bugs.
*
Pass the black bird
in the scent of the clouds
~ portico at the top.
*
The magpie's nest
in reserve rectangular
~ source of spite.
*
Bras serpentiforme ~
snap spring tears
out of words.
*
Scaled hands
on the span of the balcony
~ the day unfolds.
*
My soul rules
dig life and tell me
~ calm and gentle typing.
*
pass left right
morning cars
~ boarding for Kythera.
*
On the green coast
a yellow truck climbing
~ sudden clamor.
*
Stripping of the tiled roof
~ file the one from elsewhere
the short straw.
*
Zinc at the base
dirty brick fireplace
~ scheduling.
*
From notebook to book
the rubber dries and drifts
~ cold assembly.
*
The refusal of the other
is self-hatred
~ together it may be.
341
face face
to the touch of our hearts
within reach of the ash tree
without gesture or word
high gaze
standby sums
On the photos
serious and sad
to jump from the top of the tree
fire hummingbird
passacaglia of the mists
showing veinlets with one hand
to decipher in the evening by candlelight
yellowed identity papers
that the wind scatters
before our sleepless eyes.
O face
unique face of passing time
dazzled infanta
be the receptacle of our tears
the salt of our meeting
from stick to thistle
from Job to gray
to growl
in front of the dung
mingling with basalt pebbles
glowing mixture
Virginia creeper
and the red wall
oh face
that a lack of spirit erases
flat stone laid in the morning
on the garden wall
mixed breaths
face to face for all eternity.
340
Are you here
glissando without evasion
to carry me on the gentle wave
moon interview in the parlor
bark torn from the cork oak
weaving through the slow crowd
dazzled passenger
fragrant scents.
My soul
only
randomly on an outing
saw himself taken
in the flood of migrants
oh my soul
otherness is another identity
from the other to oneself
the very source of solidarity.
339
Under the temple gutter
y'a romance
the saga of passing time
the procession of wooden soles
the thrill of the reeds
the hinge of a door
that we open
and creaks
tomorrow or after tomorrow
nothing at all
arms dangling
eyes up
horizontally
festoons of clouds
beyond the sky
in mild syncope
on the clay pavement
to scratch with chipped nails
the passage of ants
in the river to be
towards the treeless
wrinkled sand.
336
My age
sitting against the tree
looked
extinguished tallow ball
at nightfall
an icebreaker poultice
back from mission
of father and mother the descendant
at the risk of knowing
terminal flame
my annals scattered
a windy evening
open career
and
last cartage
in cahoots
with the apocalyptic reasoner
our builder
our gravedigger
our inventor.
337
Discount tide
retroceded tide
countdown tide
deposited tide
recovery tide
will i see the last hiccup
slide down
the gorse slope
standby
pond sphagnum
my correspondence
in a good crew
speeding along
without waiting for me to die
ebbing crying
under the mercantile canopy
family links.
338
Black of Black
in the underground writing desk
from corolla to corolla
tighten the rope
between dog and wolf.
Capture the prosody
of the screeching of vultures
dizzying sailboats
garbage collectors of remains
without suspicion
without counterfeit
overwhelming with sadness.
Rise of outstretched hands
sprung
white
of the anthracite wall
to the reflections of the moon
away from city lights
to the sound of whelks
sentinel draped in leather cloak
what does the cowherd wear
whip raised,
viaticum before the altar
where to surprise the avowed flaw.
The Grand Bédé stands
the screwed clown hat
on his forehead Frankenstein,
distaff gorilla
tagging on clay tablet
the wounds of his thought,
cuneiform traces
engraved on the doorstep
drip
of a sky crying to know itself loved.
335
In the green sun
of our childhood.
flowing water
from the well to the pond.
two newts
one male one female.
sweet scent
spring scents.
From top to bottom
the effigy is displayed.
The end clap
bite the dust.
Attached to barriers
the rainbow epilogue.
Tallow in the throat
the sliding of a rope.
The edge of desire
the landing net in hand.
Anything goes
everything reflects the presence.
In front of the mirror
cheerful face.
Move on from what's hard
to what is tender.
be in love
with oneself.
No theory
just an intensity from within.
Grace
we receive it.
Mom
stop telling me not to.
The transmission
a relay race.
Every soul is rich
attention to others.
full of butterflies
these weightless messengers.
Between broom and gorse
the walls open.
Spin the wind
avoiding dead ends.
Before the real silence
sweet romp.
Listen
the air to breathe.
334
So beautiful in the shade
and sewn in spirit
she strutted
straw hat
according to the matrix glances.
arose
between cats between dogs
brief surprises
without batting an eyelid
the cigarette in apostrophe.
Grumbled above
in the court of outrage
the cave frescoes
of his borrowed clothes
caught in the rays
of a bicycle
without crutch
with tinkling bell
and wooden fenders
to stand up straight.
She was zigzagging
from plane tree to plane tree
the frog ditch
bursting its bitter bubbles
as you wander.
Without ceremony
lace in the wind
she tore the morning mist
hands on the handlebar tape
a hint of mimosa on the nose.
So beautiful in the shade
and sewn in spirit
she strutted
straw hat
according to the matrix glances.
333