One day, waking up from the dream of our existence
to complete the project of a most particular tale
- a humanity made of gingerbread and jam, flavored coffee or dark tea -
with people roaming, blinded by their own light -
with most kind creatures of feather and smoke -
they fly, they jump, and bump into one another -
they swoon, wide eyes, with burning thoughts -
then, from our psychic comfortable cradles,
now of such organic softness,
now seduced by the mists of time,
we will regain ourselves on the meeting field,
the agora, the clearing of our dispositions
- our gaze towards the horizon from which, wave after wave,
multiple suggestions the future will provide.
May it be so that we could watch.
May it be so that we could smile.
May it be so that we could make this gesture ...