In the lacuna, where we settle,
She speaks from a position of authority
My second mother of complete-truths.
Let her speak, when she says
People are optical illusions, with their
Short shadows and quick magic tricks :
People are optical illusions lacking prestige.
Let my mother whisper when she spirits
Men of beds in which they slept so far
Dragging them out in the lacuna ;
There she adds : love’s an engine
Not a camera, however large the room.
Frédéric Benqué 