the time of confinement

Here, motionless
Cloistered in the cramped quarters
of a bowed sky
I speak to the stone
In the silence of the cold
In the time that sparkles
On a stoneware pot
My frozen steps
In front of the escarpment of the distance
I watch the night
who grabs me
Like a last day of summer
The wind delivers me
The vaporous cry of a frail cloud
I catch my breath
Between two thoughts