Of an opaline stain
soft round
At nightfall
flow time
Same as this story
Started the day before
And who long told
Revealed deep memory.        
 
To those who accomplish
In a meaningful clasp
The privileged moments of oblivion
To those for whom the circumvention of short forms
Made frame on the ice of the pond     
The scrolls of a sacrificial fire     
Mark the seal of contemplation     
These phrases-hands of the soul.        
 
Perpetual Horizon
Ukrainian black soils
On the arrival of the Scythians
You were girded with the light of the ancestors
Facing the mares of the steppes
Rich in peat and blond wheat
As it was taking shape
Our face deep in the clouds.        
 
 ( Based on a visual work by Jean-Claude Guerrero )

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