Clouds
passing
laden
with the ink perpetuated on my fingers
From my body
I have inherited the night
without mastering the babble
that gargles words
a mass of shadows
become rainfall
cleave the heart
or
drape over me a mantle of feathers
It may be that on your shoulders a frequency sparkles
with redoubled iridescences
water whiteness
rag whose blue infiltrates you
agonized greening
the ink is confined to the frontiers of crimson
without your understanding
why
gilding is inapt to restore
just a rudiment
of immensity and air
The lightning bolt of decease
reclaims you
on the neighbourly balcony
with its accumulated winters
And in the depths of ashes roads cross
Wherever you may be
You are on a voyage to where
The call to near ones and to veils
Provides its shadow
You yourself salute yourself
Salute a lightness of saying
continually
in provenance
from the loss
look at yourself
test the point of the gesture
the crayons of autumn
the aerial transparency
with which you
sprinkle the one athirst
Plunge your hands
in the nun
a pure river
dissipating a secret's reflection
that disperses
sources and river mouths
it has galleries
that allow
the take-off
to the one whose heart rejoices
have trust in your vivacity and you shall liberate your knees
until the time when
silence overflows
on both sides
that are by no means face to face
when all they have between them is blindness
Translated by James Kurkup
Mohammed Bennis
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/colours-55/
