May 04, 2008


The drizzle repeating itself, the mountains' murmur,
white as the mist and sky. Today,
no music in the mother-chamber, behind the

curtains, and both wooden blinds. Today
the weather has darkened, and left sleeves damp. Despite the charcoal burner,
the resplendent fabrics, something nostalgia itself

can no longer contain. And behind the fierily flushed cheeks, the sweat-drenched hair,
the ink-stained fingers, perhaps
the sadness is true.

—Anne Talvaz
(original published in "Panaches de Mer, Lithophytes et Coquilles", Editions
Comp'Act, Chambery, France, 2006)

Posted by dwaber at May 4, 2008 02:58 PM