Vine. <br /> <br />Ivy, a gorgeous blend of low-pitched chords and song <br />Out of reach, of sublime gilding on a blason <br />Of vert crossed by stripes of sable and of gules.. <br />I invoked Cassandra -but was deaf to her calls. <br />Near me you were flowing, stately Rhine of my hope. <br />Your profile whose forehead was hid by the hat's slope <br />Showed your nose and your mouth that the music did swell <br />With deep tenderness or eagerness, who could tell? <br /> <br />The voice flew, a seagull. The organ rolled, pebble. <br /> <br />Vine? No. T'was heavy grape. <br /> <br />SAINT EUSTACHE IL Y A HUIT JOURS <br /> <br />Vigne. <br /> <br />Le lierre, splendeur d'accords graves, de chants <br />Inaccessibles, d'ors sublimes, sur un champ <br />De sinople croissant, croisé de geule et cendre. <br />J'invoquais sans ouir ses réponses Cassandre. <br />Près de moi vous couliez, beau Rhin de mes espoirs. <br />Votre profil sans front ployait sous chapon noir. <br />La musique gonflait votre nez, votre bouche. <br />De si pure douceur qu'elle en était farouche. <br /> <br />L'orgue roulait, galet. Mouette, volait la voix. <br /> <br />Vigne, non. Grape lourde.<br /><br />Michel Galiana<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-saint-eustachius-church-a-week-ago/
