Political hens








Branches weighed down by the wait
Arrogant winds
Difficult learning of the harvest
And of the mysteries asleep in the humus
Gleaming dawns
Grotesque dawns
The silence

The silence moved by scrapping noises
By the impatient wings of rare birds
The silence that unfolds
And the one that listens
A stunning line of revival
Available for who wants to forget oneself

Releasing the hysterical sounds of exhausted worlds
Closing the doors
Not relying on anything but the precise rythm of the nights
Plaiting the politics in the hands of the one who waits for me
To wrap up the fallback dreams

 In the morning, crossing the courtyard crunching with frost
Followed with the bastion of hens
Innocent, the hens, faithful
Golden gallinaceous birds that expected me as well
And whose secret lives I measure up, delightedly.
 






Marsh 2016