so little extended    
the projects of the night    
in this continuity of things said    
than the sea    
withdrawn    
let tears of salt bead.        
 
At daybreak    
there will be mayhem    
between the proponents of the nuptial cause    
under a cosmos    
clearing the ram    
infinity pastures.        
 
Let's not marry them    
on the helm of the divine chariot    
let's be in cahoots    
with the walker   
who faces the wind    
climb the Sainte Victoire.        
 
Let's set the donkey's pack    
under dark olive trees    
scratch the bottom of the sky    
call on the children of the village    
scratch the painter's black fingernail    
the finery of the surrounding tits.       
 
On time all    
The message is clear    
under the guise of the crisis    
there is the wave frequency    
in direct contact    
with the turbulence of the Spirit.        
   
 
 
586
 

The confinement was deserted
of this fabric of habits
the forest rustled with ease
with the songs of birds
the air was pure
and unhappy people.
 
Sure it's not there
it's never that
the account is not there
where are we going ?
there's only
we have to
they do not know
but this march itself
constituted us and freed us.
 
thought of exodus
nomadic breathing
hot and cold pending
thirst for transhumance
thirst for the great spaces of Breath .
 

 
 
585
 

feather of balance    
in the circle of equals    
as you go    
of a contained Spirit body    
the voice spits out words    
pending a ricochet    
that thought welcomes.        
 
Erection of a skeleton of love    
under the paneling of the night    
to build    
deconstruct    
the original hut    
of the foot    
the lost custom     
between caress and joy.        
 
 
584

I had let my parents do the road
I got out of the car
to stretch my legs.
 
The mountains were close and very high
at the bottom of the valley I was crushed.
 
They left
and never saw them again.
 
Late spring snows
fought over the slope
with great reinforcements of torrential waters
that the enclosure of the place made noisy.
 
Stones and boulders punctuated the gaze
like so many hooks
reading the places.
 
I approached the bridge
which spanned a furious torrent.
 
In the pile of the bridge
there was a hole
where did a rope come from.
 
I pulled.
 
Pebbles came,
small fragments
who were just asking to go out.

I left the rope
which flowed back inward.
 
I pulled the rope
and new pebbles came out.
 
After several comings and goings
of this clearing work
hoarse peasant voices
made themselves heard.
 
I stopped my action 
to continue in imagination.
 
There was a pass
a treasure
a cassette
a leather purse
gold nuggets.
 
The time has passed.
 
I found myself in the village near the bridge
low dry stone houses all around
married with children
and my task as a peasant breeder
took all my time.
 
The mountains always high
become familiar
framed the seasons
the stony track had given way
to a narrow paved road.
 
The hole was still there
one lifetime was not enough to shed light on the mystery
it was me who had the hoarse voice
the White hairs
the wobbly gait.
 
 
583
 

 
 
 
 crumpled face
 curtains of the night
 amorce d'un silence.
  
 Caudine Virgin
 with small white arms
 sous la veste d'épeautre.
  
 smile guitar
 with glittery lips
 and voice of honey.
  
 Phylactère anisé
 notes with smoldering eyes
 under the blue halo
  
 frank throat
 with slender tendons
 she is unique.

 unity of self 
 unity of the world 
 unity of the invisible. 
  
  
  
 582 

 
 
 With a marked line    
 from Abyssinia    
 on your forehead wrinkled with sweat     
 walking    
 to the one waiting for you    
 iridescent feel    
 on the embers    
 lights off    
 of a torch    
 in beauty    
 tell me    
 all of your music    
 beautiful angel of love    
 converted passion    
 of spirit in his breath    
 coronal run    
 marine amber    
 without getting lost    
 pearls    
 opal glows    
 in the reflection of the day    
 without ending    
 the night    
 in the interlacing of our arms.              
  
  
 581 

 
 
 A pebble rolls     
 under the torrent of words    
 between lips and smile    
 such a foghorn    
 pitfall avoided    
 at the risk of awakening the permitted caress    
 the fruit falls on the grass    
 kiss of a furtive encounter    
 in tune with the passage of clouds    
 of an intricate order    
 no regrets fine flower    
 set with a tear    
 posed filed    
 on the gallows wood    
 rough introduction    
 with a gentle caress    
 made of honey    
 just conversation time    
 that it was agreed to continue    
 in this waiting station    
 standing    
 in the center vintage    
 of a labyrinth without counterpart    
 way of conceiving the escape    
 through the woods    
 torn sails    
 by the fingers of Aunt Jeanne.        
  
  
 580
   

 
 
 Of high grace    
 the body filled    
 the sliding of clear notes    
 out of the silence    
 at the entrance of silence    
 knowing how to catch the wind    
 the wing slips    
 along the banks    
 a thrill of sounds    
 in the momentum of our teeth    
 crunching the adornment    
 of seraphic wings    
 between thumb and middle finger    
 in the chop of the source.        
  
  
 579
   

 
 
 From the iron cage   
 packed seeds    
 the blue tit    
 fripe l'air    
 of its fan wing.        
  
 The horizon vibrates    
 between white and black    
 day and night    
 the offer between heaven and earth    
 combines separation and unity.        
  
 The wall slices    
 and proposes from right to left    
 the elliptical adventure    
 in a Hebrew script    
 propitiatory as well as sudden.        
  
  
 ( photo by Caroline Nivelon )
 578
    
 
 
 
 

 
 
 By night    
 on the square    
 gray notes at daybreak    
 the rose blooms    
 fingers of the soul    
 ministering spirit    
 to the chirping of a sparrow    
 without the gravel crunching    
 in shouting and ranting    
 hunt armfuls    
 you skin des campaniles       
 raised to centuries of misery    
 of our ancestors covered    
 of a land outcropping    
 wicker baskets    
 up the fountain    
 baskets full of household linen    
 dried on the big wire of Pradou    
 whose stick in the middle    
 supported the sound of hooves    
 metronome of my words    
 as soon as the cherry tree passed    
 on today's agenda    
 of a love    
 tearful teddy bear.        
  

  ( photo by Caroline Nivelon )
 577