Martine Audet Poems

Do our bodies hear us
losing nights?

Lame hands,
...

Some of our dreams spoke the language
Of emptiness, like a love,
we exhaust extreme energies,
then the despair.
...

It sometimes seemed to us we had loved,
that our outstretched arms,
the crows' only feature,
breathing wind,
...

The steel of brilliant colors
(stealthy flight:
the poem is a hand),
of same airs
...

Time often returned bones,
details of a movement
which raised roses,
repeatedly,
...