a trunk

a deserter 

at the edge of the distant 

need for air 

or something 

to say it

a whim

a dreamer 

at the crossroads 

lack of air 

or landmarks 

without flinching

a departure

a traveler 

at the edge of the unknown

catches his breath 

and sets out for the best 

and for the worst

Stone of Exile

Stone of exile, stone of chosen land, 

The language veers, abstract, rough, and bare, 

The difference and the other shore of the limit, 

Of the far without landmarks, 

of the newness 

Of gazes and strange smiles, and loves barely awakened, 

Yet free from their torpor.

Oneself Glimpsed in another world 

Where existence flowed smoothly

 Ah the labyrinth of solitude

this meandering passage

this crossing far from home 

this fatal face-to-face 

in the mirror of his origins

 

the disarray on the other bank 

landmarks disappear 

it undermines from within

grief indifference

the mind in turmoil

 

then lack activates and represses 

speech falters and sounds false 

verbs no longer have the same object

and onomatopoeia blurs

in this wall-less labyrinth 

whereas emotion takes precedence

 

in this chiaroscuro 

the journey is endless

the ego fluctuates desire wavers

then one morning of embrace 

a lover brings 

full of joy