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narrative poetry

s'il
il y a trois manières dont les hommes prennent
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
c'est le bateau de la perle
qui appellera le vent
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
doucement pleurant
vous êtes clair
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil

 



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