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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required No one in this morning The road is deserted, It's too early under the gray sky, The veins of my hands, Salient hands on the wheel The look Elevated The white line scrolls, The colored houses, fled, Since the curves crossed, Creeks glimpsed, The white studs punctuate the road, pedal to the floor,, Not any possible gesture Just those, tiny, Extending the machine According to the gray ribbon Powered by the wheels Swallowing the consistency, of traffic signs, blurred by speed, The craft carried by his power, Shares my drunkenness ... Almost brought a strength, Internal and autonomous The motor flexibility It shiny metal body, Discreet comfort inside ... And suddenly ,this is At the end of the turn, This dog, As an immobile sphinx, His unexpected question, The deflected trajectory, Gravel under the tires, The crazy slide, Nothing controls it Falling universe A jump above the parapet, A single flight without return Net stopped by an heavy shock Cons below ... A brief moment, I remember , The covering waves, Ebbing, breaking, Again and again, Distributing its foam On the rocks ... No one in this morning The road is still deserted It's too early in the gray sky. - Personne en ce matin, La route est déserte, Trop tôt sous le ciel gris, Les veines de mes mains, Saillantes, mes mains sur le volant, Le regard en plongée, La ligne blanche qui défile, Les maisons de couleur, enfuies, Dès les courbes franchies, Les criques entr'aperçues, Les poteaux blancs rythment le trajet, pédale au plancher,, Plus de geste possible, Que ceux, infimes, Prolongeant la machine, Suivant le ruban gris, Propulsé sous les roues Avalant la consistance, des panneaux de signalisation, floutés par la vitesse, L'engin porté par sa puissance, Partageant l'ivresse... Presque porté d'une force, Interne et autonome, Moteur en souplesse, Carosserie brillante, Confort intérieur discret ... Et c'est là soudain, Au sortir du virage, Qu'il y a ce chien, Comme un sphinx immobile, Sa question imprévue, La trajectoire déviée, Les gravillons sous les pneus, La glissade folle, Que rien ne contrôle, L'univers qui bascule, Le bond au-dessus du parapet, Un vol sans retour, Stoppé net par le lourd choc, En contre-bas... Je revois un bref instant, Les vagues les recouvrant, Refluant, se brisant, Encore et encore, Distribuant son écume Sur les rochers... Personne en ce matin, La route est encore déserte, Il est trop tôt sous le ciel gris. - RC - mai 2014
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