he was beautiful
because he was part of the landscape
and i can explain why
he was the color of the city in the valley,
the light under the cloud
the growth on the mountain, snow melting down the sunny peaks
i could think of him, like an endless stream of weeks
and the colors in his skin, the grafitti on the town center walls
the sword fights in the center, the piano playing in the station
it was all his creation, and his brother’s films that made it to the festival
that showed the world a tiny mark of a pencil
that had been drawing blood from veins
from centuries of sharing hillsides
of driving fast in the passing lanes to the sea
the boat builder and the roof tiler
he was something in between
with the language of the nation, and the native underneath
he was the rock under the waterfall
that wobbles under my feet
and he said i made him dream
long before he went to sleep
and he said i made him dream
long before i went to sleep

il m'a dit,
tu me fais rêver
il m’a dit,
je te rappellerai
je te rappellerai