Learning to read a language –
whatever language –
is to drag to the surface
the taste of words
anchored to the paper –
still water.

Under the surface,
the shadow –
a shipwreck –,
where the essence of words
floats
in the immobility of nothing,
without owner,
surrendering forever
to the abandoned deep.

Only knowledge can dredge up the taste;
when the light of deciphered threads
travels the tunnels of the eyes,
formerly in darkness,
illuminating the silence
of a soul shipwrecked in flesh.

• Throne of weapons

• The light of the paint

• Still movement

• Self-portrait with monkey

• The gaze of the dwarf

• In the depth of the cloth

• At the margin

• The circle

• Ruins

• The burning house

• Plutôt oiseau que pájaro

• 22 June 1937

• Ship of several trees

• And Paris gave me birth

• Dead word

• My mother died in London

• It was my son, my father

• Living from glass

• Lesson on the beach