Pierre Martory, p.4


The flowers I planted the length of my road
Have lasted a long time despite winds and coldspells
Already blazing middays are slyly beginning to burn
The secret of the roots
And I know there will remain of my footsteps
Only one trace one cluster one drop
To recall along the paths I have chosen
Those nights where the light was singing
In the eyes the hands the hearts and the glasses.

I like the gentle bitterness in language
Filling the palate with a promised saliva
Bumping against the mute keyboard of the teeth
With raised curtains of which one could say
That the memory will retain a fleeting trail
Glimpsed we won’t know how or else
The radiant reminder of the singular moment
All heaviness abolished the unconscious pleasure
Refound of being nothing but purely animal.

Because our life closed on this shimmering sphere
Color taste and smell at their extreme invoke
Some miracle independent of genesis
Produced by distillation of air and of earth—
Like the movement toward technological planets
Came from a calculation done on the fingers of a hand—
Weather contained flowing continual autumn
This night this wine which enters me to give me
A light head a prolix speech charmed sex.