© Dorlene Latry
In darkness, when silence becomes like a requiem, when emptiness is filled by flames, when we close our eyes and forget our bodies, the body that betrays us at every instant, losing us, where can we find relics, vestiges soaked with sweat, fear, mud, humid, fertilized by worms and putrefaction. Where can we find those relics, intoxicated, saturated by smooth exhalations, a mix of white carnation and myrrh, black smoke, much black smoke and wind, a wind which alleviates us. They walk, walk again in the mud with their broken legs, and open hearts.
When we forget the body, this body that betrays us in darkness, alone, with memories not belonging to us, the silence filled by flames, broken legs, open hearts, we wake up.
And then we meet them again.
