Orphan Poetry or Paradise Lost: III. Eau de Vie/Spirits

Eau de Vie

J’aime bien cette image (ce tableau?)
d’un homme nu et beau
au bain chaud…ses mains, inoubliables
comme ses yeux – les deux,
plein de ma poésie…
C’est assez á dire qu’enfin
les pages ont perdu,

Je viendrai et lui retrouverai
reconquérir le territoire
de chaque phrase,
chaque mot,
chaque virgule,
et chaque point.
Je suis sûr que leurs sont inscrits
à la surface de sa chair,
et mes mains, mes yeux, mes lèvres
retrouveront encore


It pleases me this image (this scene?)
of a man, bare, beautiful
in a steaming bath…his hands as unforgettable
as his eyes – both full
of my poetry…
Enough to say that in the end
the pages are lost

I will come and find him again
reconquer the territory
of each sentence,
each word,
each comma,
and full-stop.

I’m sure they are inscribed
on the surface of his skin
and my eyes, my hands, my lips
will find again
each one.

By bonniemcclellan

Mother, poet, american ex-pat from Texas living in Northern Italy.

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