The cabbage trees stand in line like little soldiers, they are so unique, as if each one was developing a singular personality, Tata beach
…like that day when a familiar face appeared on someone else’s face. Ghost? Hallucination? Premonition? The stories align, integrate into the chaotic flow of time passing in gusts of wind, in sandstorms, or slowly like a young seagull that has not yet learned to cross the street.
Les cordylines australes (arbres à chou) s’alignent comme de petits soldats, elles sont tellement uniques, comme si chacune développait sa propre personnalité.
…comme ce jour où est apparu sur le visage de quelqu’un d’autre un visage connu. Apparition ? Hallucination ? Prémonition ? Les histoires s’alignent, s’intègrent dans le mouvement chaotique du temps qui passe en coup de vent, en tempête de sable, ou bien lentement comme un jeune goéland qui n’a pas appris à traverser la rue.
photo: when I see that moon, I think I am not sure I want humans beings to go and spoil it as they are spoiling earth.
I will read slowly
the words and their syllables
as if they were touching my skin
they would roll against it
then tear it alive
they would fight among themselves
to rub closely against it
after a vain battle
they would doze off
behind the dark pages
of my old notebooks
during the Indian summer
photo: Tata Beach, Golden Bay, small installations of this kind appear between multimillion-dollar houses, at Tata Beach
if I had a house
it would be a cabin
it would be green and I would cook there
in the evening, I would sit in an old chair
and watch the sun go to bed
I would go to sleep in the white and blue boat
which would have a small staircase
three steps to my dreams
and the starry sky
