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Quand le vent soupir

Dans la ville de St. Francois,

Le rideau de la fenetre

De la plantation me demontre

Ta forme de perle et de soie

Tandis que les enfants-fantômes

Parfumés d'oléandre

Dansent sur le lit

Et t'encerclent avec leurs rire.





Because I was asked, the translation:



My Gift From The Moon



When the wind sighs

In St. Francisville,

The curtain of the plantation

Window reveals to me

Your form of pearl and silk

While ghost children

Perfumed by oleander

Dance on the bed

And circle you with their laughter.

A twisting tangle of faces

To the left...to the right.

Freight trains and footraces

Trespass everywhere tonight.



Honking, screaming, crying.

A compacting and stifling city

Of lost people selling and buying

Each other. All is seedy and gritty.



And I long to melt, resolve and rise

Until it's not personal, not home

But an anthill, or swarming of flies,

A blink of light, a glint of chrome.



I am vapor, dew of the first morn

And a blush blooms still on the face

I kiss where Time has not yet worn

Your laughing lines, fine like tatted lace.



Where all is fresh with earth and you;

Be thou eve and I'll be sun anew.

Tadpoles are swimming where the water runs red;

Full moon is rising, and there’s blood on your head.

There’s fire reflected in the depths of your eyes.

A woman is screaming and flames lick the skies.



Did you hold up your arms and scream out in shame

For the women and children who died for your name?

The night held its breath and leaned in when you wept,

“For your murder, oh sweet one; my promise is kept.”



A village burns quickly and a man mourns his soul.

Branches sway softly, and a squirrel slips its hole.

Clouds cloak the moon; there’s no rebuke on the rain,

Just silence from heaven, cinders, and pain.

When mercy freed me from your switchblade smile,

At last I wept the loss that coursed like blood

Unstanched, to pale all grasp of truth and guile;

The world so bright, I daubed my eyes with mud.



Now blind, I walk my night through day and light

And curse the birds who sing and warm my face

With calumny so like your serpent bite,

A poison springe to stay my flight of grace.



Shame leads my way, disgrace the only map

To guide the step of fortune’s feckless fool

Up steep ravine above the ocean clap.

She roars my name and calls, “My prize, my jewel!”



I reach for sky and tempt my soul to fly

To rocks that wait to love me by and by.