How small is all the vastness of childhood
when its scent on the chest is of first fields,
of wet grass,
salted flowers,
plaits of mud,
bread of hands…
Month: November 2023
Physics of the Road
I always walk barefoot
and the world is an eternal beach of damp sands
where there is no sea and no land,
only the part in which both lap at each other
like newly-wedded dogs.
It is their tongues that erase my footsteps
just after they have been uttered.
Second Deed (fragment)
I see you!
Rosy gates,
rotund blazons waving like cyclones,
mundane vapours pouring en masse into the earth.
I arrive upon the infinite donkey that descends the cliffs.
The fields of poetry
The fields of poetry
are of arid exuberance.
In that exile, beneath the absolute sun,
we the blind walk in the sharp-edged
shadow of the word.
To love, like war, leaves behind
To love, like war, leaves behind
devastations in seed,
exuberant fields,
solitudes that grow
wild and unusual.
Alone at dawn
Alone at dawn,
when all the others fade to evening,
I gather flowers in minefields,
and just as the body would burst,
so bursts the soul of the first lights
I devour in the harvest.