In the hollow of the soul in the shadow of vertigo the paradox creeps in, bird arching before the call. Cross our limits, gather the wheat, emerging seeds, offerings of Apollo. Across space the stars come together and collide so vividly that the thoughts prolong our dreams. Over the counter in the firmament pass the clouds, syncopated alternation at the bottom of the universe, break in the tenor of the song. On the acroterion of the temple acrobatic angels orient their mirror to the original Source. Ensemble, suitable the monsters of our entrails tearing at the societal strings understanding. Slow walk, at the front of our approaches demeure the invariant almond removing the stale air from the attachments. Coil up in the seraglio of our imagination Commander's orders, effort consent to untie the bonds of discord. Unbreakable Light of February, the bag full of buttercups spills his memories from beyond without felt explanation.
An eye behind the tree with quivering fangs and snout, the wolf flourishes open country. Assessing the space he splits the meadow towards the flat front embankment, the purveyor of dreams. Mid-Lent sated he sleeps, fish fricassee in memory of days gone by. Low on the horizon open windows the sun is blazing, footsteps of good people. The adjoining ruin in its box of raspberries braid the adventure address of little flying hands. Spinning time going back through the circle of the seasons crying is rare when the absence comes. Everything looks like him in this big room honored by the creaking cupboard with fragrant old clothes. Pass and we come back in the village of iron shoes church Square the burning bread pie. Traveler on the way been come bite into the shrub berries in memory of this life.
The myriad midges dispersed the flowers drop the last dew everything is silent. They have morning filters dream thoughts flake their fresh tufts. Secret and persistent they lap and work the delicacies of the night. Crafted in tradition they pour out shamelessly grain and chaff. Bargain we will go for a juice at the slice of toast. spinning fast most capable of reason will be away from cover. Small splashes of watercolor will receive great attention at the Sunrise. All coming breaking the ice of propriety allow impermanent information. Possessed of mysteries eternal snow slide they will be put on the shelf. Shoveled at the door of the gargote the laughingstock of the crowd will drive them back into the kitchen. Will then rise on the edge of salt the circles of childhood the smile of innocence. 407
spirit girl over the rosehips the valley wakes up from the monastery rises grace. passing by I crossed the plank bridge with manicured clumps of watercress souls whisper. A few cubits from the place under the quivering poplar the chatter of birds went back in time. The restless leaves in the scorching sun rose nicely at the crystal of dawn. Bees rustling the slope behind the house was rampart without the evening falling. Finely chiselled in the shade of a thicket laid on the moss the offering of gold and jewels adorned. Of her lowered eyes towards the silence of truth the gentle virgin with fine hands held happy days salon. Straight nose thin mouth in her white linen scarf she was forever. Rolling shadow of tall trees along the creek sweet grass bent over under the song of Icelle.
Sur le Balatum at the torn joint, mouth with bloodless lips, the galena post scrapes some hisses. The jungle pisses in the gray dawn, the rutted track from Savannakhet to Saigon dispersing the convoy such lace hiccups. The heavy thoughts are reflected making ghosts sparkle in iron galoshes assembled in front of the temple with belching tigers. The flat boats in the fumaroles of the river form sfumato behind the lanterns gently swaying under the chirping coat of mosquitoes. With a half-shut cry awakening is instantaneous under the suddenly living foliage when the vibrating arrow hit the gold button.
The shock is harsh fire sending from the bottom trinkets and sweets accumulated over a lifetime on the front of wanderings. may we exposed to tests name the bridge of memories glorious arch joining what was in the depths of our being.
We were going to Auvergne pick the blueberries. We were going to Auvergne helping grandparents on the farm.
On allait en Auvergne
retrouver les cousins. On allait en Auvergne
faire du vélo.our victory the train past Neussargues was arriving by planeze exposed west wind. We were dancing emerging from the rustling nights of birches at the table let's shiver of freshness with half-closed eyes. Passes the windy voice of the attic through the fenestron of coarse clogged canvas pass the years in Riquette's eyes. bad shots were brought to us shadow organists grumbling about so much rain against the glass. Of gold on the cob poppies in daisies race between meadows towards the main road of La Roussière. Get up from the fall a smile on the lips knock knock at the door to the barou. heavy tears the hens are cackling before the stone seat the clide is well closed. Let's put away the boxes of Coco let's be right on the edge of the dream we of the ash and linden brothers lovers of oblivion. 404
A solution to life the picota of the great spotted woodpecker then you will see this attention delivered early in the morning. By the yardstick of others my soul originates emanation of the mists in the hollow of the valley. The deadline moves away deadly wanderings within the folds the rumor swells. Shines in the rain forest grasses pancake songs muted ember words. Grieves with a halo healed wounds that the wind ignites under the walls of the mind. Lifting with his arms earth's bowels she nodded the curly hair. Clearly the colors entered reassured the beauty of poetry between noon and two o'clock. pass the range soft posed notes on the adornment hard ground. Wire to wire the holy chrism on the lips step forward in solidarity the flower of humanity.
Is surprised to appear in half moon The cantor of comings and goings The strange character dressed in black Origin of questions : Can we take what we're given ? Should we magnify what is naturally good ? Wouldn't there be at the bottom of the bottom the original germ ? Sleep is not a veil over the conscience He is the wandering knight The manifestation of offenses against the Truth. As well Get up early in the morning Lean on the window railing Open your eyes to what is Fulfill the coming day Close up at night Breathe the sands of temptation As they are buried In the ocean of comings and goings. Wind-driven boat to the land of reconstruction From hand to hand Embracing the smell of uprooted weeds Sliding down the slope half moon face From origin to origin.
