Mon occupation préférée:
“I have taken delicious voyages
embarked on a word,” Balzac wrote. So I say
millefeuille, Givenchy, trois fois
de rien, while trees fly
their kite tails, the chickadee keeps
practicing its song, and I wait
at the edge of the woods like the young
brown deer in October still
remembering when it was branded
by stars because words can open
like oysters and Sometimes, very
rarely, a saying pearls forth
from their nacreous throats: we get
to decorate ourselves.*
* Francis Ponge, Le Parti pris des choses: l’huître
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