A microbe will devour us

Farther and farther towards microbes with sparkling colors
lower and lower barely held down by clothespins
we descend into the 13th dimension of time
which scattered its statues into the microscopic hives of your skin
Almost immobile but not quite lost at the bottom of some pore
they move between spiky hairs
with cold or terror
We were there to watch them with a magnifying glass
Our eye, appearing too large for them, turned from right to left
to understand their dances, very small pas de trois
to the rhythm of an inaudible music that they let us guess
Very small notes punctuated by short silences
dances with lark steps
with leaps of lambs
to flights of hummingbirds
And what are our tiny signatures
at the bottom of the incendiary butterflies that dot the city?
When crows pierce their beaks sharpened at night
until it bleeds
and all the blood of the night condenses on the horizon
so that a red round sun rises on the ocean
me
tiny under the skirts of the waves
I eye
I adjust my cheek to focus on
an opening that will engulf me

Guy Girard, Pierre-André Sauvageot, Élise Aru, Joël Gayraud, Alfredo Fernandes, Claude-Lucien Cauët
16 mai 2018