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March 17, 2024

A little girl clings to my side

Just the other night, I was twenty,
a young girl clinging to my side.
We were walking at dusk,
scattering in the wind
our excess of torments.

The child and I walked on a path
our four green eyes visibly moist.
I loved the rain that washed our tears,
the misty horizon, its pierced clouds.

Prisoner of an unimaginable poem,
my poor mind searching for ideas,
marvellous escapes, golden islands.
A tale of despair almost impossible to share.

On my hip, half-asleep,
the child nuzzles my neck.
Her small arms hanging,
her thin legs dangling.

My heart, my arms, my legs,
my entire body, floating reeds.
My follies, my dreams, my desires,
the extravagances of yesteryear.

Fleeing the vicious man,
We hoped to reach the open sea.
Descending towards the great ocean,
like the ancestor in his barge.

On a road aimlessly traced,
worry stops me from advancing.
Wolfs howl and owls who.
The ocean black, its waves raging.

Falling leaves, flying feathers,
all my beautiful certitudes disappear.
All that remains is an untellable tale,
an almost inconceivable run-for-your-life!

The spiteful man is unforgivably handsome,
his evil heart tawdrily dressed.
A few lines come to me in fragments.
His mother, his sister, a few sisters-in-law.

The city lights go dark.
The horizon falls into the void before us.
The child covered suddenly in frost
seeks the door to my belly.

Again tonight, reality’s cruelty
obstructs our path to the moon,
prevents us from catching a star,
sliding over the tops of clouds,
and jumping into the ocean blue.

“I’m on a stroll,” my body tells itself.
Up there, on a cloud, the yellow star dazzles me.
The light slips between my ten fingers.
It streams down the little girl’s neck.
And I write!
— “Mom!,” she cries out.