Leaving Poem by Donatien Moisdon

So I shall have to leave this old village
half hidden in the haze of a pink aurora.

Last cool breath of the night before a scorching day.

With their ogival gold a few lazy street lights
line up silent bridges and dormant river shores.

Frozen image in brains which do not want to die.

No, it's not my body, proteins and bacteria,
skin, fat and excrements, not my body that wants
to conquer Death
but this very picture; for, without my vision
it would for ever keep howling its loveliness
at Nature's indifference and Heaven's emptiness.