Tibia Log

On my tibia, up to the internal malleolus

facing the sky, laysa log of wood.

I knock it with folded fingers, and move towers my foot, until I reach the protruding bone.

Only one sound, that of wood throughout the path of knuckles.

One I will throw into the fire,

Without waiting, without regard

The other, I can’t separate myself from it, neither from the femur, hip,…

Same material, same sound.

One reveals the other

this one is dressed with an idea,

that one is not,

that is all.

———-

Franck – Nov 2022
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