This calligraphic mountain
to the watershed
who belatedly sows the heavens
of a musical staff
breathtaking
from the slightest horizon.      
 
Of a noise of bastringue
at the barn door
the storm threw its hailstones straight into the gutter
while the old man
head resting against the granite
replayed his life to the rhythm of the seasons
without rhyme without reason.      
 
Drenched in rain   
the wall crumbled
teeming with offers and decisions
when rose from the depths of the catacombs
the hoarse voices of unraveled words
arms full of Beau de Vrai and Bon
than an oblique thought of the playful Mind
contorted
crouched on the saddle
of an open sky.      
 
Rebecca at the end of her widowhood
gave birth to twins
at the orders of a reversal of time and space
than the embrace of the heart with the foliage of shadows
made his own the rise of the serpents of the Earth
to his chest of joy and stars sprinkled.      
 
 
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