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
Come closer
with no satin
bare neck
be the jugular vein
from the pulse of the earth
head and hair
be the vestibule
to the sound of a violin
pass the arm
of the bow lengthening its caress
down the meadow
wired romance
anointed dew bubbles
such moles
on the skin of the beloved
slender message
towards the tuft of ash trees
snapping the shroud of sweet songs
what a pile of cries
the lapping
hands clapping in time
the heart swells
of this clash
ascent to Fangeas
towards the welcome of a sky
soft very soft
in the crook of your shoulder
to tell you the little words of love.
576
little father of angels
walked straight
towards the forest
when came the evil lynx
who blocked his way.
" O little father who are you
to venture on the sacred path
are you the seraph i'm waiting for
and that my mother the sphinx
once tried to seduce ? "
" I am not Seraph
I'm just a human shadow
walking towards his house
to ward off illusions
to achieve unity. "
" One two three balaclava and small gray
I enjoin you my friend
to make you smile when the big upheaval comes
of the mechanical shovel digging up the rivers
for even more gold to put in a bag. "
" Nevermind, animal from these lands
I was glad to meet you
for raised shoulder straps
engage the fight of gold and disorder
as my ego disappeared. "
" I fear handsome man
follow your request
by forcing you to join me
in shared light and peace
towards this day when everything changes. "
took each other in hand
the tricked-out little shadow father
and the pointy-eared lynx
for exchange of good principles
enter the forest. "
575
A bird in the dark
flapped its wings
how we dance
et ça faisait le matin avant l'aube.
Then bringing them back along the body
he came to a standstill
and it looked like he was stuffed.
Bougeant sa tête
towards the left
then to the right
and it was like an automaton
sonnant l'heure dans nos grandes églises.
Then curled up
and it felt like a clenched fist.
Avant d'ouvrir largement ses ailes
occupant tout l'espace
and take flight.
Until pitch black
et ça faisait comme une mise au monde.
574
It's the father who gets up at night
to reassure the child.
It is the flower which in its vase
creates the water of his thirst.
It's the beyond to say yes
that is to say I am waiting for you.
It's the insomniac who welcomes the night
without the suspicions of the day.
This is the metonymic order
under the umbrella of oblivion.
It's the shadow cast by memories
on a clear summer day.
It's neck and neck joy
the silence of the meeting.
It's going abroad
when everything matches the fold.
It's getting on a chair
clowning around in public.
It's marrying hemp and mouse
in the palm of his hand.
It's jumping into the water
when does the vision pass.
It's the wheel that turns
when the kernel cracks.
It's the song that rises
like the flame in the hearth.
It's the crumpled paper
that the basket welcomes without remorse.
It's the drop of water
which zigzags on the misted glass.
It is to listen to the word of the other
without flapping its wings.
It is to be silent
when the tumult of the exchange grows.
It's protecting the little word from nothing at all
who comes out shivering from who knows where.
It's picking the apple
without being forced to.
It's walking straight
towards the storm of unreason.
It's retracing your steps
when there is nothing to see.
It's reaching out
to receive writing ink.
573
visible ONE
Vis
and Aspen
l'Invisible
unique visible
unnamed
rendered inoperative
by the multitude of visible.
The scarf around the neck of the walker
promote cold wind
on the periphery of the hot body
the scarf drapes the fences of the soul.
The splinter sharpens the pain
she stings once
and teaches us nothing.
what a baby
had not been given to me
this scene
in the unseen
meticulously strangled by fear
the law requiring
l'invisible
to hide away from the lands of the mind
to be only the underside of the things said
while in prebend
it offers emptiness
at the edge of which
the visible plays with the ossicles.
La gomme efface the palimpsest of memories
for without looking back
let at our feet
the little wild grass
part the lips of the Mystery
only reality in the dream
only part of the dream
leading to undo the dream.
my sap
the visible ONE.
572