In a field
of cobblestones
waving under
the breath of time
brushing by,
like wheat
in the summer
wind,
leaves
have been
dropped,
bookmarks
for the wanderers
burnt
by the seasons
to remember
the page
they’ve been blown
from.
In a field
of cobblestones,
alight
with silvery tunes,
leaves
have been lit
for the wanderer,
dancer
of the roads,
to walk down
the lines
on his face
In a field
of cobblestones.
_______________
Photo: Jean-Michel HATTON