Merzouga, Morocco, desert, light, sunset, December 2019, Sylvie GE
retracing my steps
to maybe find where I come from
but can't find anything
neither the starting point
nor the finish
*posted in August 2020, edited in August 2021
Every Sunday at seven o'clock, turns the crank of the dream machine: what happened, or what will be happening, what could be, and there we go, exaggerating the colors and the smells, the intensity, the emotions, before we come back on earth (not that we ever left, it was all in the mind)
Advancing into the night with confidence, shadows will scare me a little but the price to pay for the golden light, the reflections, the pinks and the shades in the sky
every evening
at the end of the light
he is waiting
even in winter
or he is not
he's just pretending
and when it is
almost the evening
he shivers
and slowly goes home
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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