The undulating movement of the stones

 What are those words that are always about to perish? The undulating movement of the stones. Qui ne marche est surpris par l’immobilité où guettent les oreilles les frontières des voix. Hypnotized by the doors that speak of exits. They want to be heard their footsteps, sleep walks in white on strips of sheets. What is that nudity that you hear? What is this life on the face? That it cannot support the wide movement of its forms? They keep turning perpetuating eternal life.