Dunes      

The dune is a wasteland. Like in a haiku, the ephemeral and the eternal, the infinitesimal and the infinite mingle and take shape there, according to the four elements. The sea weaves the sand, which will remain stone at its core, the wind and the sun's shadow tirelessly mold it, the night sublimates everything in a knowing silence. The most rebellious and rugged grasses and shrubs grow there, the most disparate creatures and insects live there, hares, sheep, ruminants; humans linger there little. It could be a mirror, it is a screen of light for a day of slowness.




















Incandescent of darkness
Between two grains of sand
The bottomless background


Leaving a Trace
On the discreet path of life
Crossing the Silent Eye


Finer the sand
Thicker the mystery
Only the wind dares to defy the shadow of the dune


Covering the sound of the sea
I breathe
A tacet of shadow and fine gold



Even the sun
Can't find the space
Between the grains of sand
Only Love could


Only the sand
Close to eternity
Infinitely infinitesimally


A twig will suffice
To tell me
The Gold of Time


The wind fills the ear
The sea behind the dune
The Dance of the Grass


Motionless in the cold, golden wind
The snake under the branch
The transfigured landscape


A watercolour silence
In the Shadow Shift
Breathe the universe


Slow day
Day without time
The landscape is stopped
Silence blows to the awakened light
Eternity


Light, emptiness
Add nothing, take nothing away


My gaze glides endlessly
Be there simply







(All the poems translated from French by the Author)



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