XXIII-2 CHAT SAUVAGE
      
Un hallali de cris double un tapis de braise
Qui cercle l'environne et crinière le mord.
Il devine le mât que sa panique tord
Et gravit la hauteur qui le porte, l'apaise.
Il voit les toits, les champs, il reconnaît des voix.
Mais la fatigue ronge et arrache le poids
Les griffes, s'entrouvrant, du refuge de bois...
Et le rire jaillit quand le prend la fournaise.

Bloc de calme, de nuit , ou tumulte latent,
Leur haine t'enseigna fuites et vigilance.
Les clameurs et les feux tapissent ton silence
Et l'opale fendue où se fige le temps
Enferme la terreur des supplices d'antan.

Michel Galiana (c) 1991

XXIII-2 WILD CAT
      
A coat of screams and yells lines a rug of ember,
Circle surrounding him and mane that at him tears.
When he perceives the pole wrung by his panic fears,
He climbs up to the top and hopes to recover.
There he sees roofs and fields, recognizes voices.
But fatigue at him gnaws and weight on him presses
And his claws, giving way, leave the wooden shelter...
The blaze on him closes under bursts of laughter.

Block of quiet darkness or lowering billow,
You learnt from their hatred escape and watchfulness.
Halloos and torches coat your persistent stillness
And the split opal stone where time ceases to flow
Mirrors terrifying torments of long ago.