THE DREAM WAS ALREADY WORLD

Low piano, rain against glass, distant radio frequencies

At four seventeen,

rain writes thin lines on the glass.

Across La Rousselie,

the fields receive what passes.

A red light keeps its station

beside unfinished machines.

Under the floor, the limestone

remembers an ancient sea.

Water leaves the source for the Vimont,

the Vimont joins the Vézère,

the Vézère reaches the Dordogne,

each current carried farther.

Nothing here begins with me.

The night was already deep.

The stone had crossed a vanished sea.

The rain had learned to speak.

Cello harmonics, droplets, slow subterranean bass

Beneath the paths, roots exchange

minerals, warnings, weather.

Clouds move above the borders

and alter them altogether.

Dust from extinguished mountains

enters the fruit and air,

settles inside the plaster,

travels through skin and prayer.

The dream was already world,

changing shape, changing scale,

entering bone through water,

entering time through shale.

Handpan, muted drums, granular textures rising

I recognized its passage:

a fox dividing the road,

a spiral pressed in the ground,

a frequency leaving the window

before becoming sound.

A word crossed into another tongue

and returned with another weight.

A fragment opened a territory.

A date disturbed a date.

The future leaves fine traces

inside the present tense:

a root beneath the pathway,

a curve inside a fence.

Rhythmic piano, bowed metal, expanding low choir without words

Sometimes I place one sign

beside another sign

and feel the interval grow

into a different kind of time.

A pixel becomes a country.

A river enters a phrase.

A rhythm gathers around an hour

and changes how it stays.

The house becomes a transmitter,

its walls a porous skin.

The weather crosses every room

and turns the outside in.

I am a temporary crossing

in a movement without edge,

a branch receiving distance,

a word approaching breath.

Orchestral rise, deep percussion entering gradually

The dream was already world

in spores dispersed by air,

in coastlines shaped by pressure,

in creatures moving elsewhere.

It travelled through erased names

beneath official maps,

through paths that crossed the pathways,

through futures in the gaps.

It travels through our errors

of distance, speed and scale,

through tenderness arriving

where stronger structures fail.

Through unfinished architectures,

through questions in the stone,

through every form still learning

the shape it calls its own.

Final — piano, strings and layered human breath

I give it what has gathered here:

this body marked by hours,

this room beside the fields,

these twenty-six living signs,

this radio without walls.

I add a little water

to the river already full.

I send one pulse into the dark

and hear the dark grow musical.

The dream was already world.

Tonight, beneath the rain,

it crosses through this house

and enters world again.

end