The soul of my dreams
boarded my nights
towards the soft evening
of a distant ocean
books read
whose authors I loved or hated
have covered the beaches
with unforeseen tides
the garden of delights
matured its fruit
under the blonde sun
of my fancy
on a friendly bank
and up there
in the sky
as a moving lighthouse
filled with sweet music
a lark suddenly melted
in a blue cloud
and it never came back
Claude Lopez-Ginisty
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