Eric Poindron

 sunday evening and almost winter

You have to know how to write footsteps of the past

of Sunday evening and winter

Like snow approaching white wolf little by little

Like a Dictation by Francis Jammes

- Tell me, tell me, will I heal from what's in my heart?

- Friend, friend, the snow does not heal its whiteness.

Rue de L'Hirondelle discreet street like a swallow

At the Boleh Cave

Verlaine cheats on boredom

And chess players time

There are flakes in the sad and worn glasses

And quatres engraved on the tables

Fails and tricks

Mac Orlan and the rovers and Carco are around

Baudelaire arrive

The irons of his boots stutter at Gît-le-C entur street

Under a snowy image, photographer Nicolas Yantchevsky wrote

"I have kept only your love as a swallow's friendship"

And friendship is for sale in the showroom

Estimate on simple request

On the other side of the river

Next to the old shirt dealer shop

And from this table in the showcase

where we used to laugh

Street of Once Upon a Time

Some nostalgic people have dismantled the street plate

It's snowing on silver memories

Below the bleached photo, Nicolas - where was it Jean Cocteau - wrote

At the gate of no where

"And when evening comes here our dead friends sometimes come to sit"

Rue Séguier passes an Aurelia of theater fragile like porcelain

A text is never finished

The ivy enriches the metronome

A white shadow is blowing in the Old Lantern Street

And all stories take place in 1912

Don't ask me why

Question of estimate

- Upon simple request -

Or not whispered

Here you go, one last swallow

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