There’s nothing like your words
To double-lock time,
To turn it into clots,
Into scabs and scabs
Back into tissue.
Reduced from the layers
Impacted by the sharp tone of your voice,
The mortise split by deafening mallet of you eyes
Part of the space has vanished
And sadness has gone distant.
It is possible for time
– for time more than gestures –
To soak up life waters
So commonly spilled on the soil.
Franck Joseph
©FJ April 2021 – All Rights Reserved – Texte et Photo
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Notes & Silence 
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