Et de ratage en ratage, on s'habitue à ne jamais dépasser le stade du brouillon.
La vie n'est que l'interminable répétition d'une représentation qui n'aura jamais lieu.

---Hipolito, Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain

Thursday, September 15, 2011

To Samhain

I feel my roots growing thin -
too much no-name wisdom and detail-seeking
surround me
and the ground is suddenly covered with ash.

Where are the echoed murmurs
and the bump-bump steps
and the shaky door?
The stalking smells,
the mending silence?

Has the veil between our worlds collapsed
so as to never rise again?

Oh, how lonely, very lonely these days are,
and how empty too
without the dead.

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