Unexpected stop  
along the road    
with upright plane trees    
to say I love you    
then set out again in front of life.        
 
Cork spell    
accompanying in mute    
panpipes with rustling leaves    
of this summer night    
with a mischievous smell.        
 
On the Saint-Pierre bridge    
at dawn invigorating    
were singing at the top of their voices    
voice athletes    
with dissonant arpeggios.        
 
Went up the Quai des Augustins    
tangerines crushed to the hilt    
squirting out the juice of happy days    
so so    
by the light of the street lamps.        
 
On Paris Avenue    
smile chin up    
they were going parents    
passing the subway entrance    
without excessive praise.        
 
light souls    
vibrant on the banks of the Seine    
whipped with a gentle gaze    
passing light    
of a sky with a golden mask.        
 
For forgiveness of the male vines    
laughter of joy    
stuffed the comings and goings    
daze    
of obsolete lace.        
 
sign of the times    
to the guest moon    
on the shiny cobblestones of the street    
clacked the hooves of vair    
from the celestial jeweler.        
 
 
678
 

Do we ever know    
what has to be done    
for the door to open.        
 
clouds pass    
in their cotton carriages    
such kisses of peace.          
 
Locked up mission    
that the cavalcade    
in the ruins of the palace    
to serve you    
got me in trouble        
to seize the stem of aquileia    
under the goatee of the master    
without servility    
in the locker room of bitter rhymes    
and to preamble    
the complaint of wandering souls    
in front of the carmine basket.     
 
Intermittent crack    
in the wall of incantations    
we could bring back to earth    
the receipt of the passage in heaven     
this forgetful water clock    
with poetic adornment   
to strike the hot iron    
in the forge of Pierrefite    
as mist rose    
near the birdhouse   
leaving vision of our ancestors         
trimmed daffodils and narcissus.        
 
 
677

The storm rumbled   
by his lightning birth    
at the bottom of the corridor    
to the sound of the mirlitons of childhood.        
 
Mom was moaning   
Dad here and there waddled    
and the torn paper of the living room    
granted the emotion at the moment.        
 
There was blood    
au salon Westminster    
by a line of the moon    
the door was on fire.        
 
The divine women    
concealed more than one treasure    
on the red fruit platter    
consumed with caution.        
 
Was placed on the market    
our eternal quest    
hanging mistletoe   
with grandparent candles.        
 
Rise from the depths
ornaments and pomp
in the hollow of the valleys
the gentle wind blowing.
 
Creamed up close    
this joy of accomplishing    
transit to the detriment of oneself    
like the law the order.        
 
Shadows under the eyes    
mitts of reason    
the wooden shoes brought back from Saint-Flour    
organized the uproar.        
 
Seized, full foot    
I knew I had to leave    
The right way    
eaten away by boredom.        
 
Branches spread out from the mill        
the hill was climbed    
by sprinkling the flour    
Grandchat ahead of us.    
 
Beautiful souls passed    
chasing their reflections    
men and women of the land       
towards the corridor of the Chosen.        
 
Alone on the slope    
to contemplate the sky       
the stars were crying     
in front of the bitter chasms.        
 
Bet and discount    
of this violent effort     
the violins redoubled with pickets     
under the sudden downpour.        
 
Let's not lie anymore    
think about ocean values    
the coming days    
and waltz at night.        
 
I do not forget you    
only at the end of words    
sometimes thanks to some instinct    
let's snap our fingers un veni vini vici.        
 
Skipped fittings
they aligned the precious stones
on the counterpoint
the scissor of emotions at your fingertips.
 
Octave rustle of wings    
announce the frost    
heater on    
beautiful and noble cupbearer.        
 
Dozen estimated follicles    
those were good years    
you and me in healing to be    
under the cedars of Bonnieux.        
 
Point of novelty    
without the call and its echoes    
with stained glass    
of these hours of short straw.        
 
From a piece of bread     
mouse gray yeast    
the bread was stretched    
and the cover set.        
 
Do not fear the return    
lukewarm things    
let's be the brain feverish thoughts
accustomed to the old hovels.    
        
Disjoint plates    
blackened by wood fire    
in the hearth placed here    
straw chairs in front.        
 
Back from the fields    
to chirp and sing    
may rivet closes soldiers helmet     
in the trench.            
 
Shadow puppets with fine chopsticks    
on the crepe paper castelet    
dance the charivari    
concern to appear.        
 
If not to be    
handrail seeking flesh    
by counting time     
accept the letter and the spirit.        
 
Confident, moved
a finger in front of the lips
the shadow rose    
in the flight of the falcon.        
 
was dusting himself    
the brave knight    
manses and tenures as far as the eye can see    
straight as a bully.                
 
They fitted together
fear and its pain
in the spokes of the wheel
as the asphalt ripples.
 
Mother Goose    
unrolling the last moult    
suckling snake    
came the solar arrow.        
 
Decorated and covered with pearls     
water and sun mixed    
escaped the adagio    
through the soundholes of our strange rhymes.        
 
The best is yet to come    
from one wave to another    
stretch the ridge mossy    
towards the borderless dawn.        
 
 
676

The eye offered to what is    
without waiting    
ce qui est là et pénètre le photographe    
it breathes    
ça laisse place au venu venant du sens    
dont nous ne sommes pas le sens    
but so ready between thumb and forefinger    
let it pass    
in defiance of explanation    
au bonheur d'être là.        

words put    
bold words    
mots mimosas    
that the wind frightens    
à ne point douter    
that they are the caress of being    
au défilé des circonstances    
at the edge of the soul    
as the water sparkles    
the fraîche et tendre lumière.   

( Photo de Chrystel Eugénie Colomb )     
 
 
675
 

My children of light     
in fragile health    
over words and things    
open the taste buds    
metamorphosis    
of the coming day.        
 
Naked and nevertheless headlights    
by the bite of the origins    
dance under the foliage    
on the edge of hope    
this smell of smile    
without the cage engaging.        
 
So pale    
to the future    
let's walk in the snow    
without blood holding us back    
at the level of our pruned souls    
the cry of the lyre bird.        
 
Muse without muzzle    
clog bogeyman    
with black pen    
under the banner of obligations    
the witch gesture    
brew heaven and earth.        
 
 
674
 

Moose twirls    
whatever    
the doors to pass.        
 
Water lilies on the edge    
moths of lace    
at the streetlamp arranged.    
 
Arms raised    
unfolded legs    
the finger of god at the jubilee of the archangels.       
 
Sweet arrival    
snow of yesteryear    
what did i sing.        
 
proud splint    
sans regret    
with weak muscles.        
 
Cockle landing net    
kelp mesh    
and moon eyes.        
 
Soft jump    
standing queue    
in the chill of the night.        
 
Viennese Rustic Orchestra    
with swaggering copper tubes    
with strong garlic flavor    
touching the taste bud    
and no matter the regrets    
pass the bites of the wolf    
that welcomes the eye    
elbow bent    
under the throat of the bewildered    
friction and bite    
feverish hands    
measuring reason    
at the throw of the foil    
that Christmas discounts    
of the providential bonanza    
years rewarded    
celles de belle parure    
my sisters bent over prose     
in balance of thought     
digested digital curve     
and mauve by its appendages    
that the cold evaluates    
stamped ticket   
passing the subway    
Bir Hakeim station.        
 
673

We fell from the front  
of sound and fury consented    
the storm hit the shore    
and bullet holes    
riddled the cloud    
blood of the forgotten.        
 
Grandma stood up straight    
in front of Laroussière    
his sunken eyes knew the question    
and her trembling hands     
caressed the chains passed    
it was good to be outside.        
 
My children    
my wife    
my papier-mâché rosettes    
form a garland on the Moor    
without this autumn rain    
tomorrow you will have to go home.        
 
And can only kneel there    
in front of the wounded man    
his weapons on the ground    
the deer in its lord's antlers    
to contemplate the struggle     
where filtering shadow and light leads nowhere.        
 
Don't think about it anymore    
be the wandering atoms of the provential    
be the morning of beginnings    
be the crowning glory    
be the wick and the powder    
of the arquebuse of the reversal.        
 
And if he manages    
at the bottom of the page    
to raise the horses of the plain    
organize yourself into cohorts    
you epistolary sparrows of the unusual    
in search of eternal silence.        
 
 
672
 

dawn this morning    
tel estrange in mantille    
wait for the kiss of the sun    
sea ​​conch    
in a deaf mood solicited    
on the lips    
between thumb and forefinger    
that the Big Cat nibbles.        
 
Slow flight of the shroud    
in the crumbs of the night    
follow the desiderata of oblivion    
without the wolf growling    
expected early    
on the sidelines of a team    
who brought him without firing a shot    
at the palace steps.       
 
Without a doubt    
medieval syllabary of the tender hours     
the terminal leaves of the almond tree    
graph the sky    
of a significant offering    
harnessed ear mask    
with a leap of the heart    
in mild catalepsy.        
 
Cool clouds step over the portal    
to squeal more    
between the teeth of blood and shadow    
at the nutcracker of a sunrise of colors    
claw claw the drum head    
circle the eyes of the goddess    
and bend over backwards    
to the four seasons of reason.        
 
Calm back    
clouds    
with sober cheeks    
the trowel stretches its gray matter    
railing extended    
from right to left    
doing pastels 
with a crushed straw smile.        
 
Rebound stretch marks    
the dragon wakes up    
and offer their talents    
of a trumpeting speech   
hungry blue and red    
in the wake of the black bird
close the upturned belly ban    
without being offended by the addiction.        
 
Revered Sunrise    
elegant unfolding    
towards a bright day    
a flight of starlings leaves town    
to the arpeggios of a swig of white copper    
the milk waters the eyes that open    
the day breathes    
and that's fine.        
 
 
672

pimp on the net    
dried loquats    
I accuse the blow and the cupule    
entrances    
exit the entrance    
without the pubescent rumor    
not busy with its carnivorous offers    
the front of the dream.        
 
O my mother goose    
ô month moorings    
raise them all    
and it will be tomorrow    
that we will converse of the law of faith    
without rhyme without fear    
under the arbor     
of a mild summer afternoon.        
 
To have been    
and that the word does not chase    
the dirty and buggering clique    
entertaining groupies    
of these admirable admirers    
that at any hour takes us    
The Ariadne's thread    
a praying mantis nutrient.           
 
There is no future that remains    
transplant of talkative remarks     
in the basin of limping vicissitudes    
the avenging hull    
to tell the rosary of sorrows    
leads in bitter remembrance    
to the marble islands of our holy mother    
mysterious haven sculled.        
 
671