…are words with large wings
parrying through the wetlands of inner peace
the heights of my compassion
breaking my muteness with their colours
writing my verses with their feet

and in the night
I found their lexical steps
on the carpet
on the wall
and here they are
in the frame, composed as a poem
amusing my imagination
with their extravagant stillness
flamingos are reversing my time
sitting in the torso of the night
kneading your name with ground
the ground you touched
the ground you so much love
the deepness of your heart
you avoid to face
they will be up again
when fast asleep I travel to your calls

*From “FLEUR DE SEL He… for sentimental reasons”