
night of passacaglia On the edge of the fumaroles full nostrils open To tell each other witty things right and left. Low water register After rolling With a forward roll There was flight of the angel Trusted by the reception. Eternal Sylve Waiting from one star to the other Such gallant green Walk backwards Without retracing his steps. Nail of bitter words Gesturing with five fingers Be golden nodules Ascending towards Astrée Silence in deep waters. 1095