My sister whom I never saw again .
In the winter hours you left .
What has become of your life ?
Did spring wait for you ?
You are that part of me
that has offered itself to the unknown...
Script of a frantic manuscript ,
That of forbidden desire ...
specular wound that never healed...
I found inspiration in the skin of ghosts
where I rewrite the story of your shapes...
I no longer remember the sparkle in your eyes.
Did they have a blue burn ?
Or the black of a night bird\'s flight ?
draft letter in tears of exile ,
that I never received ...
One morning , a train ,took you away
to to a city I never knew ...
In the suburbs of a distant south ,
or so it seems, the sun often shines forever
but never soothes the torn duality ...
Perhaps I have learned to cry ?
Or is it just the rain that wets
the metal dunes of my soul ?
An elegant condottiere
with a hard father\'s heart
took your destiny into his hand
as others take to the sea ...
Stones also know how to love !
They remain there ,pensive,
amid the laughter of the crowd...
My sister, convulsive lunar object
of my reverie...
Double funeral of my solitary walk .
I ,who have become this disillusioned nobleman...
Sometimes ,a random Picasso ,
redraws your image ,
on the last page of a children\'s fairy tale...