2
To recognise
your tongue in my vanishing
10 Roots
*
In
the mirror of mornings, a sound. A path.
Then another.
*
Your
hand, a devouring
root beneath my skin
crosses a solitude.
*
The
dead leaf shuts nothing in the tree
but rejoins the journey.
*
Ants
dispute the sun
without
memory.
*
You've lost yourself? Look at the
oak. See
if it recognises you.
*
Root after root. Births
in your voice.
*
There
are slopes where wine
is a fruit. A thirst.
*
The
path teaches water
to
rejoin
our footprints.
*
17
Silence
of wood. Sound of many hands.
Beyond your door, a fence of grief.
18
My
breath keeps me inside
you
and the tree
which sees
us siphoning our shadows
is
a sanctuary which leads
to my anonymity.
19
I unmake
the faces*
of my body
What's
left in the street?
A skin
on a journey.
33
In
my mother's belly legends
pushed me out of the world.
I was born
through death. In the rush I left behind
my reflection.
I leave to find myself
in mazes of water.
34
The
word writes me. In the poem
I am nothing but a hand.
38
I
couldn't
cut through water
with my reflection.
My wound
in my reflection.
my
reflection
in my wound.
My wound
is healed by water.
Unrippable
faces.
39
You
cross the tunnel of my body,
a forest set ablaze by its own fire.
There
do you find more embers than in my eyes,
more
life than
in a dead leaf? A journey
between sky and clay: too
many worlds
between me and
my body. An odyssey of hands
stretching further than
water.
49
My finest
hymen. Abandon. A way
To your other side.
52
We
are shelled by our gestures. By our glances
too.
Water steps
forward.
54
A river
has flowed between us, rising
towards earth.
Dust
awaits inside.
56
In
my body the proof of God: a silence.
A thirst. My wound
sets me
free.
57
A
flood rescues me
from my nakedness.