I wear myself down.
Thoughts of anxiety, slowly but surely.
Trickle of water turns into a river.
It’s not the water’s fault it eroded the earth.
Still.
Your path is forever there.
Where you have been, set in stone.
Time is the ultimate punishment.

I don’t like making enemies.
Or that someone is not okay with who I am.
Still, I let you carve into my stone, because of time.
But please.
Leave marks of beauty.
No gashes, no craters.
Do what makes you happy.

I must be somewhat withered.
Definition on my face is unclear, for obvious reasons.
To the point where old marks are missing.
Does that mean a relationship can have a clean slate?
I can hope, I miss that friend.
It’s a bit tender there, mind you.

I had a dream
where I had a sodalite heart
a precious stone that looks as if
earth was flooded and shrunk
only a few greenish-brown islands could be seen
white clouds swirled over the rough waters
a storm in the making
in the dream
I lost my heart
leaving a hole in my chest
where flowers had been growing
fed with the waters of the sodalite heart
to keep them from wilting
I looked everywhere
under my bed
in my clothes hamper
I asked my cat
and I asked the mirror
no one else was around to help
meaning no one had been there to steal it
I must have left it somewhere
or dropped it along the way
in my dream
I found the heart
laying on the ground
before the foot of the door
when I woke up I remembered
the sodalite heart I had bought last summer
I lost it within that very week
I knew exactly where I laid it
but it was never there
or anywhere

I sprinkle ashes
Around you in a ring
For the lips can't tell
What the eyes will see

Follow me
Let your journey begin
9-10

It is the future I claim to decipher
a musky room, smoke and magic
or are they mirrors? The atmosphere
is crystal and you sit shaky, your palm
impenetrable stone, ringed
and telling

The lines crumple and twist in curving
layers, spiralling out of
control over plains and deserts
and curving, like the others,
over hills and streams and folding lines,
an intricate map undiscovered

Exploding colour starts to fade
I guess the weather has a say in the
brilliant red, soft pink, silky beige
but the painted shells are your design.
I gaze, and my voice is the mercury
at your tips

Your eyes are orbs in the gold, shining citrine
despite the rust under the table
it is the future I claim to decipher,
And the stone of your palm is bleeding

Se casse
se brisé
comme des os
ou on verre
alors
je ne guéris pas
parce que je ne suis pas
de chair,
je suis fragile
je suis fait de porcelaine.
Je suis une mosaïque de fissures
et défauts.
On peut dire
je suis né brisé.