Indeterminable
Each morning, he would open the window
and sing
to the architecture of uncertainty
dismembered memories of love
that resided in the words
in the sound of a voice that wasn’t heard
he would look beyond time
on the shore
the dream of God always slept
the heart is a library of discarded poems
that never disembarked
the moon flutters inside the myth
he sees further from the forests
the pregnant enigma
who knows whether the world will exist tomorrow
our belongings are reflections
of whom we fell in love with
the one who felt the echo of lust
memory is thin to remember
the shine that each hide
in old pictures
C’est un long chemin
pour la jaunesse des choses
the words shepherds
hideaway of things
they know
nothing belongs to them
they unfurl the sails
before they sink
in the faraway friendliness
The sky is a porter of souls
it remembers
time sows and reaps
immortality

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