pas tranquille

We are alive with the times
with sounds that gather
between mountains, cold and black
dim plumes of willows

between mismatched feelings
and unknown climates
clothing of birds, ash-coloured
nearly calm, almost quiet.

We agree
we need silence

but like everyone else
we walk to clear water
without sight.

Under sun and rain
the entrails of language
torn between animals
and stones
not calm, not quiet.

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