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| Croquis de Michel Ruhlmann |
vient nous ensevelir.
Hiver,
toi qui te voulais mon frère.
Mauvaise graine
mauvais garçon.
Tu sens sur ton corps
la moite caresse
des loups.
The Horizon of the Poplar Trees, a very short ensemble of poems, was translated into English and included in my book Crossing Puddles (Robocup Press 2015)
Another season
comes to bury us.
Winter,
you wanted to be my brother.
Weeds,
scum.
You feel on your body
the moist caress
of the wolves
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