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Poems
by Fabrice Poussin
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Entangled
Six days and six thousand years have gone
we still hear the dull conflagration
in lightning, bright dust and darkness.
So much space has happened between them
from dusk to dawn, fire and ice
the embrace outlasts all the earthquakes.
Without memory of their birth they are
racing with the speed of stars
so far perhaps, but nearer always.
Six days and six thousand years they say
when one, they knew all
today immeasurable, still same.
In this place, they are three it may seem
inseparable, entangled in a web
of an infinity their intimate womb.
Little girls forever, brave little souls
their journey is eternal
as they float through the universe.
Six days and six thousand years have gone
we still hear the dull conflagration
in lightning, bright dust and darkness.
So much space has happened between them
from dusk to dawn, fire and ice
the embrace outlasts all the earthquakes.
Without memory of their birth they are
racing with the speed of stars
so far perhaps, but nearer always.
Six days and six thousand years they say
when one, they knew all
today immeasurable, still same.
In this place, they are three it may seem
inseparable, entangled in a web
of an infinity their intimate womb.
Little girls forever, brave little souls
their journey is eternal
as they float through the universe.
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Flight of the Swallows
Her body spoke, the soul was silent,
far too often; but he knew,
in all the pain, the heart was quiet,
and it hurt, but he knew.
Four scores and five years;
flesh and bones made up the words;
the truth remained in the shadow,
though magnificent it is.
Oceans of tears it shed and caused;
the body that suffered crippled the mind,
and then it was silent.
The pain cried, and burnt the flesh,
to be reborn.
And he knew all along;
the beautiful one that came back for him.
One quarter score passed;
she waited in the corner;
he knew always what no one else did.
And now they live again.
Two friends free, swallows
of the barn who one evening
bid me farewell, in the sweet flutter
of their wings.
When the body spoke, the soul was silent,
but he knew her heart all along.
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Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his photography has also been published in more than 250 publications.
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