Free Verse # 419 (la rue de ce poème)

Nuit d’hiver,
la rivière dans la vallée
gronde avec
la gueule blanche de la neige,
et moi, dans ma chambre,
assis auprès de la fenêtre,
écoute le souffle de la chandelle
mêlé au silence.


In the hush of dawn
I hear your voice,
the light of a distant star
dewing in my soul.


Dans mon cœur
je suis toujours
à l’écoute de ta voix


Dans la vie il n’y a qu’un poème à écrire, le reste est de la grammaire.


Pour rendez-vous je te donne
la rue de ce poème
où tous mes mots
courent comme un fleuve
qui désir se noyer
dans la fleur de ta peau


When I write
It is always like this,
I imagine your lips
Drinking the words
Sip by sip,
But my heart
Is the goblet
And my spirit the wine,
And the breath
You take from me
As you sip
You return,
Mouth on mouth
Relishing the poem
Of eternal love.


If this love
I did not give to you
In poems I would go mad,
But poems
Can be anything really,
A touch of a fingertip,
A shared breath,
A hike in the forest
As the sun sets,
For a poem, really,
Is synchronicity,
And two hearts open
To the source of love.


You visit me
When I’m about to leave
So I change my mind and stay,
But then, as I’m going, you call
And I stop to listen
To what you have to say,
So it seems that my life is nothing
But knots circling your being
In ever larger circles of mystery,
And a listening to the stillness
Of your soul.

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