Southern territories

The wind has us in its grip
children, we scavenge for images
each gust of wind turns us into kites
the sound of paws
here they come!
Hail to the walkers!
black, erect, tightrope walkers
they juggle on the horizon in a shimmer
swaying a thousand times
How do they manage to live here?
stay warm
stay alive
emptiness surrounds us
silence crushes my ears
a gesture
a crease in crackling fabric
I hold my breath
they are there!
kneeling down, to be at their level

"Who are you?" his eyes ask me
"Who are you?" his eyes ask me
It's evening and the world is blue
It's morning and the world is white
The sun makes us drunk
our eyes squinted from splashes of crystals
we stagger like drunken ants
yes, enjoying once again the intoxication of being near them!
they pass by
processionaries
so alive, like us
they climb with great pomp the virgin ruins of these cathedrals
to dissolve into the light
and the sun rings in the days
and the cold reasserts itself
in my head, the blizzard intones a Te Deum

Luc Jacquet