When The Birds When the birds leave my body I will lose the words To enter my memory When the wheat part my fingers A landscape as old as the earth Will rise When the secret hides Behind the trees You will tell me I am cold And the text will be swallowed up By the archeology of the seas There will be no more text Only a botanic book That will be opened To write about the horizon When the statues fall asleep In my hands When the flowers cover up the exile Hastily Then Then I will come back Hanging on your youth As a surprised traveller I will plunge from the quays Not understanding The murmur of the sea I – animal of the sands I – clay, argil, seaweed I will have seen nothing of the oceans When the children on Good Friday Will make the bouquets fly into pieces When the sap flows over The resin of the temples When water mixed with earth Starts howling Like an ...