[ untitled ]
even if the branches wave
rustle
the evening light drowns
everything
bathes swathes soft
tranquil
we have
calm
lowered the gates of memory
shut the books
wind sweeps the rest
for a moment
we seem to belong
to the wind to the light
standing
unmoving
empty
as if here time left
a bit of slack in the rope
as if brusque there were
not a clean breakaway
but less wall
--Antoine Emaz
(my translation)
