Up the mountain   
 at the top of the trees   
 hang the colored figures   
 that the birds of prey have scattered.   
   
 On the prowl near mossy rocks   
 to the inner source  
 the wolf is watching   
 quivering muzzle.  
    
 Rise from the valley   
 the procession of humans   
 scraping from their studded shoes   
 the pebbles of the railway.   
   
 Stopping in the clearing   
 they lay down the burden   
 this dead body   
 on a broken beech trunk.    
  
 The songs rise of the other time  
 elsewhere and today  
 marriage of guttural sounds   
 and mild complaints   
 like a growing love ending.   
   
 Over the forest   
 the solar star explodes   
 pushing away the morning mists  
 it straightens the reversed forces. 
     
 It's time to get to work   
 to lay the dewdrops on the foliage  
 then to light the fire of fertility   
 blossoming into infinity.  

    
445

 Of virtuous feathers   
 the hummingbird fell in love.  
    
 Eyes squint   
 facing the loneliness of childhood. 
     
 fists clench   
 if there is nothing better to do.  
    
 À demeure l'au-delà se recueille   
 when time breaks its pipe.  
    
 À genoux devant la fontaine   
 each water spider purifies.  
      
 In a row of pearls
 the blood of the eye tale fleurette.   
   
 The memory always the memory   
 to have no more tears.
      
 Know the gift of tears   
 matrice des connaissances.
      
 Over the years   
 pass the excess of self-love  
 pass the dance of nonsense   
 pass the founding story   
 pass the great doctrines    
 pass the wounds   
 pass the nostalgia for elsewhere.
            
 As the doors close   
 opens a tempestuous silence   
 our tiny lives open up   
 opens the cloud of tenderness    
 s'ouvre la nécessité de prendre soin   
 opens the perfect adhesion to what is   
 opens a meaning to his life.  
    
 À la cloche de l'étude   
 I put on my gray apron   
 and his tight belt   
 avec au cou   
 the miraculous medal   
 and these little secret papers   
 attached to suspenders   
 corduroy panties.   

    
443

 With a wave of the hand   
 he summoned the sign   
 appeared on beech bark   
 branching of voltages   
 d'une poussée verticale   
 as the thrill speaks   
 in the heart of the trodden humus   
 par la galoche cirée.  

 There are full moon nights   
 to sprinkle with fine stars   
 the pavement of the eternal cities   
 hanging on the oar   
 the heat of the day dissipated   
 que rosit les joues fraîches   
 of our pregnant faces. 

 
444

 I hold you you hold me   
 by the goatee   
 and only hold the wind   
 and golden ball   
 rolling down the ravine   
 vers la cupule des origines.        
    
 I dream of holding you   
 by the goatee   
 while you sleep   
 dissipated man   
 to forgotten pranks   
 without support without path.    
  
 The new act is coming   
 the little child dreams in his mother's womb   
 and the question is weighty   
 to be lying in the void was worth nothing   
 creepy   
 than to look back.      
     
 La boule d'or plonge   
 the foam covers it   
 a sound of accumulated laughter   
 ride giant pots   
 l'enclume sonne le dernier rappel   
 breaking the order of things.      

    
442

 Tonight   
 before the songs of Hildegard   
 watchtower planted in the wild grass   
 a pinch of salt on the fly   
 against the hull of visions.   
   
 The carriage drives away   
 on the stony path   
 perspective mission point. 
     
 Just an outstretched hand   
 whose fingers are silent   
 when cool   
 bridesmaids flower dresses   
 of contained laughter   
 in front of the old man with the galoshes of wind.  

     
441

  The open in me   
 the open for the other   
 open to others.   
   
 Eye flip   
 shells in the reflection of the free exit   
 through the eyes of the animal.  
    
 From childhood   
 we were on the forecourt of appearances   
 the support of remonstrations. 

 To write the full and the loose   
 from pinnacle to pulpit   
 to go up the slope.  
        
 And then the day was pure essence   
 and the flowers opened   
 drumming call of the minstrels.  

    
440

   The bow of the walls   
 in the deep moat    
 inscribes Certainty.  
    
 What seems certain   
 it's death.   
   
 The New is always uncertain   
 a little new one does more than the old one   
 he is able to extract.  

         
439

   Did you see the wind coming   
 and the flower depart ?   
   
 If the wind blows back   
 the flower perceives nothing.        
 The flower walks on air,   
 no on earth,   
 the flower walks on nothing.   

   
438