Sacred valley, Peru, South America, 2018, Sylvie GE
a haughty shadow
delineated in Indian ink
appeared in my dreams speaking a foreign language that
evoked my roots
but felt like thorns
sinking unwittingly
under the skin of origins
Outaouais river, white, snow, ice, traces, January 2020, canon, Sylvie GE
I was fleeing without making any noise, nothing cracking, no one could see me. I hadn’t thought of the traces I would leave behind.
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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