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 ombre in 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.   


 356

   On edge      
 ~ a kiss landed.

 Crazy child butterfly   
 ~ of our dreams.   

 Farandole of reflections   
 ~ bubbles on the surface.   

 A pewter ladle   
 ~ to put to our lips.   

 The wind in the ash trees   
 ~ to cool off.   

 mission blue sky   
 ~ eternal trial.   
 
A few steps in the stream   
 ~ an exchanged smile.   

 Clasped hands   
 ~ for the thirsty.   
 
A flame on your forehead
 ~ the eye so mysterious.


 357

   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.   


355

 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    
 in the night   
 oh sated moon   
 country woman    
 child of the weeds   
 familiar old man   
 late in the mirror   
 under the caress of memories. 
  
 look up   
 light the torches   
 at the temple of expectations   
 be a 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 pearl pillow   
 welcoming what comes   
 in wise joy   
 a pinch of tenderness   
 off the road   
 arms outstretched in embrace   
 flickering light   
 of the dawning day.   


353