FRANCOISE HARDY SONG

by Justin Vicari

Dreams, nightdeep and
without language,
forgotten by day --
they're the best, aren't they?
Because there are millions of them.
Our moons are bombs
defused on the boulevards.
Like clouds
they follow any crowd
as long as we live.
Tell me, in what direction
are the wombs
told by the motherwind?
Alas, what a wonder is the world
rocked by every feeling. . .
Alas, what a wonder is the world.
Do not trust the trauma.
Go to the side of the man
who has been in other eyes.
Something something something,
I forget the rest.