one by one,
all the lines
of her silence,
manuscripted,
brought
before him,

one by one,
all the lines
on her hand palm,
all of her lives,
bringing her
before him.

and one by one,
all of it,
dropping,
down the royal
stairs, into stone,
before him.

how easily
all can be
forgotten

tomorrows
empty of bygones

no other sorrow
than a slight
longing

the longing
of a sailing ship

waving at the shore

the distant shore

a green screen,
the imaged voice
in my head.

all is
but
what it is.

and when
spring comes,
wounded trees
bear a blossom
in their own blood.

il joue sur son luth

des lunes ambrées
tournent en rond

une par une

la jongleuse
les lance

une voie lactée
opalescente

le clair de lune

haletante
la jongleuse se noie

~~~
he's playing the lute.

she takes
the amber moons
turning round
and round,

she juggles.

one by one,
they turn into
a milky way,
opalescent,
the moonlight

- a lake,
for the juggler
to drown.

once upon a time,
she alighted
on atlas' shoulder
and softly
told him a story.

as he unfolded
his path going
west, she unfolded
words, tracing the
east, for the sun to rise,

and then she sighed
and he held her, made
her his night sky
- heaviness of light,
folded heart.

empty shell, these hands, a praying whisper...
a dew glitter, frozen dawn, the bird flies.
waving branches, a single tree, so unclear,
empty shell, these hands, a praying whisper...
shattered threshold, rendered abyss, the skies,
blind hands, trembling flame, the river dries.
empty shell, these hands, a praying whisper...
a dew glitter, frozen dawn, the bird flies.

rien qu'une lumerette,
cette brièveté

la pêche l'été
le jus plein les mains
la langue adoucie

rêver de toi
à en brûler
même s'il fait noir

étincelle légère,
cette brièveté

~~~~~
Blurred

just a spark,
this briefness

a peach in summer
juicy hands
sweetened tongue

to dream of you
to burn in there
even if it's so dark

a frothy spark,
this briefness