Fustel de Coulanges was right 
To crush with a heel
The last butt in the Allée des Minimes.

Was,
Dappled the fruits of waiting
The procession of the wanderers
Mixing with all comers
The child's smile
In memory of the war
This bitch revealed
By cheers of joy after victory
Crossing plains and valleys
Far far far away
Boat people from the day before.

Primal joy
Jumping over the river
To cut up time
Flirty sentences
With iridescent eyes
With the yellow and rectangular pupil
Coming out of the shadows
Like the groans of sealed wagons
In the middle of the road
Skimming the premises of the life to come
By jerky jets of steam
From clearing to clearing
Herbs scorched by sparks from the machine
Arching one last time
Their bald tufts
Right on the shaggy gurgling of the wheels on the rail.

There were thousands of them
Those denied freedom
To participate in the coronation of heartbreak
Daily bread of an alveolar pulsation
Suitable for collecting in the infusion of the limbs
The masked part of singular spasms
Of the propitiatory sign of the cruel evidence.

It will be time
To unseal the stone
To reach the broken glass of glasses
Abandoned by bad wind
At the bend of a road
Leading to the two trees of suffering 
Mixing trunks and branches
Through the narrow skylight
Proposing with a clumsy hand
The crumpled papers of oblivion
Dry stone borie
Arranged upright in front of the gap of silence.

Days follow days
The rescued child stretches his cheek
To the rough of a man's hand
Ready for the big jump
Having to open your heart
Without seeing or hearing
What's going on at the postern
Like sudden rain
On bare skin with tense hairs.

At the crossroads
He stopped
Taking care of your feet
Blistered glue to shoe leather
Offered at random
A welcome rest
The bumblebee embedded in a rock hole.

Why these changes of direction
Why discord stifled
Having deviated
Having denied
The share of those involved
To join the other convoy
Take wife and children
Build house
Blacken the hearth
Make the rooster crow in the yard
Until the end
For destruction occurring
Build again
The eternal vision
Until nobility comes
Loaded with old wounds
To deposit
Key on brocade cushion
At the entrance to the cloister of otherness
Unbelievable promise
Inaugurated the day before
Under the linden tree rustling with rare bees.

Stay there
Cultivate the medicinal plant
Then seated in the designated stall
Mix words and thoughts
To the sudden awakening of the soul
Under the high dome
From the altar to the seven ears of wheat.

On the edge
Where the hunters lie down
The remains remained
Of bones and rags in shreds 
Against the base of the hanged man's cross.

Good men let us rise
Let's reach the murmuring stream
On the banks of lush grass
To plant the teepees
Topped with goatskin
Mark who will know about the Alliance
To be the ultimate singer of the voices of our ancestors
Straight Shooting Stars
In the alley of outrages
Removing dead wood
On either side of the track
Without tripping over the root
To remove accumulated brush
Last passage of the herd
Idle, scraping the stones from the draille
Without clouds getting involved
In the numinous sky
Crossed from side to side
From sunrise to sunset
By the presence of megaliths
Hidden under the graying of larks
Sowing fine wicker kisses
The oiled air of contemplation.

1564

Walk and be silent
Towards the sea
Last hill covered
Towards the wood of laws
Where to gather in living faith
Under the branches of the oaks.

Enter the stage
Palpable mystery
This invisible thing
Who makes us go
Towards the tips and tricks 
Of reconsideration.

Are fading
The last shadows
Early in the morning
While the cicadas sing
Encephalographic spasm
To warm the stomach.

Whisper the sweat
Remove makeup from wisps
Through the tall grass
With a whistling sound
Reassuring tinnitus
Like lively ears to the coming wind.

On the ground
Feet refuse to move forward
Heart in turmoil
Make a final call
To the tortured rocks
From entering the place.

Listen to the silence
With slow vibrations
Near the thorn trees by the side of the path
Where worries and fricasse
L’attention fine
Prelude to the opening of the caves.

Fine bite
Full-throated
The sneaker scrapes the stone
Near the mound
Where to gather the tools of waiting
Before the emerging dawn.

The great crossing
Made of shards of life and brokenness
Look at our humanity
Thinking of reporting
Love and freedom
At the crossroads of eyes.

Fresh moose
A body that never stops functioning
Muted sensations and movements
For the benefit of the sensory experience
Infinitely simplified
Like an open letter at the point of a knife.

Brief
They shared
Session intranquille
Zafu sitting
The scriptural word
Meditated, soothed, exhaled.

The ellipsis
Reconverted in silence
Pass nutmeg
Remonstrances absolved
Where everything is there
Beyond the unspeakable.

Accept the bend of time
Climb without return
Run on the ridge
Eliminate the fear of heights
Featured one by two 
A burst of emotion facing the old ocean.

1563

My father played the trumpet
Under the tree of memories
Inoculating the child
The offer to jump in with both feet
In the big puddle
According to the storm
On the dirt road.

Concrete is the quest
To go looking for demons
The metaphor of melancholy
Before going from room to room
Absurd stories
In the vase of suspicions
Without a shadow of regret.

The body is fragile in structure
The flower is bright
Token slipped into the slot
Let's inaugurate the right place
Adorned with passing mists
Where to drop off bag
Thinking of you.

Move the jug from my throat
Press some medicinal plant on my neck
Be quiet
Just surrounded by insects
To make a sound
The sound of permitted existence
To the cruciverbist with arms outstretched.

Shaken with spasms
The belly was revealed
Puffed scar
Coming out of the cave
Lively and proud
The Queen carrying in her
His own accomplishment.

Decision made
Captured by desire
He lay down in the ripe wheat
On the woman with the overturned bike
Peak Intuition
To take history backwards 
At this entry into war.

The coffee tasted good
On the station terrace
Watching the trains go by
No more than ten minutes of course
Flowing
Without too many details to provide
Between the heart and the lungs of discord.

The squinting of the eyes
Bring the trees closer to the rock
Protuberance of the vernacular ring
Everyday words
Put in parentheses
On the side of a cup
Cradle of a rag doll.

The gaping faults and crevices
Secret wounds of the movements of the earth
Opened up at the zenith
At high noon
Bare feet in wet sand
Begging for room and board
After wandering along the cliff.

At the table despite everything
Looking good
The years have passed
Chance sprinkled with icing sugar
The back of the hand
Slipped into the gaping ghoul
From the Grande Vivrière.

Pubic flowers
Grown there with so little humus
We joined calmly
The story to tell
When paid plane tickets
Coming home
Scheduled wedding.

emaciated
On the hulling area
We have made a clear space
To slip the eye into the hole
To the only concern 
To make it clear
The sound of the trumpet.


1562

Muse flushed out
Leaving Courmettes
With variegated skin
Approaching the centuries the centuries
By its presence and its beauty
The plainsong of the gray cuckoo.

I swear I love you
Rough-barked Acolyte
And to join the elves
To serve you
And to go find for you
The jewel of the depths.

Sir please
Don't be a jerk
In the forest under rocks
Desire is ample self-knowledge
To moisten the eye
To dance in a circle.

Missing more
That the pipe of the angels
To revive young blood
Lustful archer laying down his arrow
On the stone of sacrifice
Reflection of the radiant star.

Madam I suggest you
To go and taste the tongue
The heart of man
The dream of an end of cycle
Singing at the top of my voice the usual ballad
Happy people.

Vogue 
And swells the belly
Be gracious
Engrossed by the play of meanders
On land and in the air
Path from man to man.


1561

Listen
I'll tell you something
You wait for me
Time passes
There are so many temptations
And presto ! I'm coming back.

Why don't you say anything
You the moon
Small horned moon
What do the crows corroborate?
On their return to town
In the evening.

Well yes
There is also the horizon
The horizon further than reason
Even further than home
The horizon of the song
Blurred galore.

Come on come on
I have to tell you something
How big the sky is
Higher than the mills
At the big feast
From New Year's Day.

And yet 
It's declining everywhere
From floor to ceiling
Red moss
Always dance
Before the night before the day.

To finish
If it's not too twisted
There’s the can of tuna to open
To open in heart
Before the stick gives the middle finger
Frozen in his ardor.


1560

To bend down
To the second
Something is happening
At the risk of going down to paradise
In beauty
Gently
A pearl between your teeth
Like yesterday like tomorrow.

We will see the first stars there
By virtue of poetry
To avoid compromising 
At the back of the head
What the adult says
Trap to break the wire
Of the child pushing far ahead of him
The plastic wheelbarrow.

It is possible
Let a blackbird pass
And iron on the washing line
Accumulating yellow beaks
From the community
In infinite facilitation
To be the master of the place
With a reputation for pure ecstasy.

A bit of smile
To open in reduced model
To the rehabilitation of the domain of the adults
Simply
Under the plant cover
Keeping the heat low
The handful of chickpeas
Thrown on the embers.

To offer
On a bed of moss
The white stone
Like stained glass
Crossed by light 
Fine tip of the calamus
Inscribing some sign
In floating attention.

I ride therefore I am
In color on the clay
Crunching under the sole
Open barn door
Pigmented with wormholes
Just time to recover 
The tin bucket
Filled with bulbous casein.


1559