photo: Taverna, Mykonos, I love the old mirrors that distort reality
The blurry mirror
of silvered glass, a gleam
not quite me,not quite another
like a ripple stolen from the midst of a thought
The light blurs me,
like the mist over the loch,
below the unconscious depths stir,
the ancient shadows rise,
their voices soft as the breeze through the pines
then I fracture into thousand of me,
each a whisper, a wave
breaking upon the shores.
photo : Split Apple rock, cet oiseau, comme s’il avait fait du yoga toute sa vie/ this bird looks like he’s been doing yoga all his life
photo : shadows and light, the Blue City, Morocco
Yes, of course I will be back
one of these days, through the branches of the sun,
Behind the shadow of day,
I will appear, as I was,
On the day we were,
that will stay forever
photo : it is the background I like in this photo, as the shadows seem to hover over the foreground, a bit like our unconscious dominates us in a way we hardly suspect.
In the quiet recesses of the mind, the unconscious /
the contours of which are traced with delicate touches of trembling memories/
is quietly agitatting in order to invade the soul/
thoughts are emerging like fragile icicles/
The cold seeps through the light/
What secrets are hidden here? Half-formed thoughts/
elusive and dancing at the edge of reason.
Let’s entangle our paths where necessary for us to meet, possibly at the crossroads of the seasons, unpredictable, I might add, besides I am satisfied with little: colours, shadows, words, voices, sounds and no, wait a minute, it is a lot.
