Freeze frame

It’s been almost four months since I wrote. Not even a line, a word, only mul­ti­ple and abun­dant thoughts. I had to check my web­site to con­vince myself that my silence was not longer than that.

I live in tired silence. My heart, for­mer­ly, poured its waters impu­dent­ly. Of the sea, it seems to remain for the moment only a weak stream. It is well said that poets have real inspi­ra­tion only when they are young. And yet, noth­ing ages in this con­science which takes the place of my per­son­al­i­ty. No doubt there are dykes upstream that only hope to give way.

Frozen frames, so to speak, since this sum­mer. What do I hear in my fears ? What is going on in my body, in my mind ? I may under­stand the stars and feel the tec­ton­ic plates of my des­tiny, but I still breathe this air of hope and wish­es that escapes me all the same. My key­board is more tan­gi­ble than the time that slips through my fingers.

I do not invent any­thing ; I am only the rep­e­ti­tion of life. What grows and dies around me belongs to the book of all.

Some­times, if I lis­ten care­ful­ly to the present, I rec­og­nize the same echoes as in the first hours of my ado­les­cence. Some­times again, when I look at pic­tures of a past I did­n’t know, I meet my fears, desires, ten­der­ness, and fail­ures. My desires, above all, those that have come up against lessons greater than myself.

My for­tune seems to be ineluctably linked to the slow course of Plu­to, to the ocean­ic fog of Nep­tune, and to the scyth­ing of Saturn.

I am still search­ing, even though I lis­ten nei­ther to my body nor my past for days on end. I grow old, let­ting time become more than dust as if I had this lux­u­ry of years.

I would like to hug a young undressed sailor and be at sea with him. And this thought does not fit well in this text.

It is my heart knock­ing at the door of my hours.

I am made of regret as much as of self­less­ness. Is this wis­dom or abandonment ?