passer by like everybody else
but not seeing yourself
in the mirror of the waters
the sad affairs of the world
invite themselves into
your most beautiful dreams.
Awake, but we don't love ourselves as much
as what we see through the windows, what we think we see, what we want to be.
A ruffled cormorant was drying its wings
as for me, I was digging in the sand with my toes,
and you were chewing on a twig,
another one, over there, was looking for gold in the sand,
in other words, he was feeding on hope
then it started to rain
Un blog experimental voue a la poesie du quotidien sous toutes ses formes/An experimental blog devoted to poetry in all its forms
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