My House

The whistle of the wind
Wed with howling hounds
And the whine of tarpaulin
Resounding on a wreck's roof
Cuts my ears
'Till I can no longer hear my tears

This place is empty
Save a few old souls
Who come when called to eat their soup
Who go when told to go to sleep and rest
At the feet of the lonesome massif
Where I live

Here the rodents hibernate
In winter there is nothing else to do
The rest of the year they hide from a predator
Who has scared all the birds away too
I chose my home

Distant mountains echo one another
With the thud of a frozen goat
Fallen onto one of their snow-capped nipples
On which nothing suckles
I walk there

Blasts slap the shutters
Which snap and let the dark in
The dog curls into a ball
He will not go out for a last piss
And I cannot switch on the light
My head is in my pillow
All I see is white cotton
Turning red
Then black
Then grey
Rubbing against my eyes
Steaming them up
Again