love my life with mixed roots filtered this light at the bottom of the aisle to trees of gratitude et de puissance alliées. Butterflies of the day moths in their syncopated races danced back and forth bright colors of the Spirit to the sound of healing drums. Kneel on the threshold she held out her bare arms open palms her lustrous hair erasing the last shreds of night que le baiser de l'aube rougissait. 542
There is the world in its excesses
and then the white egret
in his stillness.
At sunset
there is the sensitive man
the troublemaker of the salt marshes
foamy lip.
At low tide
traces on the sand
of the swan in flight
a thrill to remember.
The night organizes the dreams
raindrop hopper
for a sacred dance
sign of our wandering.
541
Eperdu to run through the woods the man quickly gets excited under the murmur of an antler driven by the wind who here and there shakes the tops of tall trees with a vibrant gaze stirring point just the watchful dance guardians of the threshold whose eye darts in the lustrous future through many passages such skin stretched over the stump mouth to mouth of ecru words light butterflies delivered the next day as long as they know time spent say just wait. 540
These two are made to love each other
at random
of soul and gurgling of the heart
escape in small jets
Ambages without handcuffs
proud wings
leg crossings
poets our brothers
our fathers our sons
grabbed her in the skies
calm children of the simple life.
Passant
take off your hat
there is good quality there under the autumnal moods
a lot of silence and friendship.
539
At the limits
of quest and doubt
there is this expectation,
clarity in its advent.
Clouds can crumble,
the winds are no longer enough,
there is also the tide of the heart
qui fait vaciller l'être.
The rain falling on the oilskin
in contact with bare skin
electrify the conscience
to be beyond animal heat
and below the world.
Nothing happens like before
the cows continue to graze
le chien est assis entre mes jambes,
je suis adossé au talus de pierres,
tous deux sommes de garde
drop by drop of the time that berates.
come back from the sea
the veils of childhood.
We must leave
not to come back,
the wet and the light marry,
tomorrow there will be the rainbow.
538
My old mother
where she came from
I do not know
maybe from this train
above the viaduct
then back to hell with the sisters
without Mary
abandoned in soiled sheets
offered to terror.
My silent and loving father
clung to his wife
like the raft of the Medusa
running happily
behind the cart when leaving the station
in the dust of Montamize
then leaning against a straw
played the trumpet.
They had a child
inviting them to marry
the beautiful child of spring
to compensate for the entry into the war
at the end of the path between the wheat
picking cornflowers and poppy
in tenderness and injunction
for destiny to happen.
His name will be John
like that uncle who died young
released from the trenches
and the Spanish flu
that I had to reincarnate
came five years later
in shadow cast on the threshold
at granny Danube.
What do I know ?
I never saw it
but i believe it.
Then a girl came
to whom Lulu gave her first name
skylark
heard in planeze
in the summer paradise of familiar Auvergne.
When the youngest springs
it was the big upheaval
the oblivion of the Grenelle hovel
our wild mother was no longer haggard
to run the windfalls of his childhood
far from the bombardments
she got back on her feet
rearranged some pieces of the puzzle
and brought Fifi back under her pillow.
They didn't go any further
the workers of our source
built on the ruins of families in exile
they rest outside the stage
under the stars of a wide sky
that it is not vain to contemplate
in the evening when the RER shakes the tombs.
Sometimes at the top
three bright spots are eyeing us
behind the cloud race
our dead sing
the living scatter
on their way of life
swells the rumor of a tornado
that the wind lifts
on the road to Frugères
like the withdrawal of the Boches from Mont Mouchet
their package accomplished.
It's time to spread the tablecloth
on the grass of Pradou
to bring the crockery
in the big wicker basket
without forgetting the black wine drawn from the barrel
laugh and talk loud
while the children are heckling
may godmother prepare the camera
and that grandfather signs with a cross
the bottom of the pie.
537
have come closer
near the big beech
to erase the seasons
going back to the past years.
Sitting around the stump
to contemplate the high foliage
have reminisced
the wild boar trail.
Then prayed
for the rain to come back
under the crackle of the mud
cove of ultimate protections.
inquired
of what they were doing
dinosaurs our friends
to topple the tall trees
while the immense plain
bruissait des cavalcades
completed shadows
outside the customary grasslands.
dot clock
just shadow and light
warping with bitter breath
order and remonstrance
of our brothers the successors
drunk with life to come
and running under the forest
towards the clearing surrounded by cob
protrude
the last stone.
536
Closes the operculum of the whelk
on the sand
with soapy bubbles
caress of passing time
in the hollow of the weary waves
false spring
dilated nostrils
whats up marines ahanantes
the hand touches the raising of the veils
under the taut yard
metallic note of the piano
racy silence
sagacious wandering
before the angel came
with a sly face
under the rain of petals
that the wind scatters
a thousand kisses at auction
for the pigeons of autumn
brazier gathering
at the end of the grant
the clear flight of what was.
die white live black.
535
On the blue forehead of your childhood
through the dark passes of the night
an eye landed
small puddle of salt water
on your wavy lips
let the wind blow
frail caress
to comb your brown hair
at the base of the neck
and cross with a gesture
the bottom of the universe .
O my wife with sunken loins
feigned witch
round dance
at the coronation of autumn
I smell you
and lose myself in the maze of your arms and legs.
533
I roll up the prayer rug
out the dark night
no pretense
just the music of the old white sun
this lover with a fertilized spine.
I calm my ardor
without breaking the white egg
on the tracks of dogma
far from cerebral coding
otherwise few applicants.
I distinguish the subtle essences
in the midst of filthy thoughts
and turns the din into inner music.
Outside daily life
transformer point.
534