Notre maison est seule au creux de la montagne
\nO\u00f9 le chant d\u2019une source appelle des roseaux,
\nO\u00f9 le bout de jardin plein de l\u00e9gumes gagne
\nLa roche qui nous tient dans son \u00e2pre berceau.
\nSeptembre laisse choir sur les molles argiles
\nLa pomme abandonn\u00e9e aux pourceaux grassouillets,
\nNous avons d\u00fb poser des cailloux sur les tuiles ;
\nCar la bise souvent s\u2019aiguise aux peupliers,
\nLe volet bat la nuit, le crochet de la porte
\nDanse dans son anneau. Nous avons peur et froid.
\nLa mare des moutons r\u00e9veille son eau morte
\nEt soudain un caillou branlant tombe du toit.
\nJ\u2019aime, sous mon poirier rong\u00e9 de moisissures,
\nDes champignons serr\u00e9s voir surgir le hameau,
\nUn petit dalhia me pla\u00eet par ses gaufrures,
\nMes brebis ont le nez et les yeux du chameau.
\nNotre univers s\u2019\u00e9tend au gr\u00e9 de notre r\u00eave,
\nLe silence est mouill\u00e9 par la voix du torrent,
\nLa lune de rondeur sort quand elle se l\u00e8ve
\nD\u2019un nid de thym perch\u00e9 sur les monts d\u00e9clinants.
\nAssise dans le jour de la porte qui pose
\nSon reflet sur la cruche verte et le chaudron,
\nPour la pomme de terre au ventre dur et rose
\nJe couds des sacs. Je vois blondir le potiron.
\nLes pruneaux violets se rident sur leurs claies,
\nLa salade du soir est dans le seau de bois
\nEt des corbeaux goulus qui fr\u00f4lent les futaies
\nFont en se querellant tomber de vieilles noix.
\nC\u2019est le temps o\u00f9 la feuille aux ramures d\u00e9borde,
\nLa montagne nourrit des herbes de senteur,
\nNotre ch\u00e8vre s\u2019ennuie et tire sur sa corde
\nPour atteindre aux lavandes fines des hauteurs.
\nLe ma\u00eetre pr\u00e8s d\u2019ici laboure un champ de pierres ;
\nJe vais pour son retour tremper le pain durci,
\nPr\u00e9parer \u00e0 sa faim une assiette fruiti\u00e8re
\nEt le verre o\u00f9 le vin palpite et s\u2019assoupit.
\nNous nous plaisons de vivre \u00e0 c\u00f4t\u00e9 de l\u2019espace ;
\nUn vol d\u2019abeilles tourne avec des cris de fleurs,
\nLa neige qui l\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 reste dans les crevasses
\nSemble se d\u00e9tacher des nuages bougeurs.
\nDes gu\u00eapes au long corps tettent les sorbes m\u00fbres,
\nLa maison qui se h\u00e2le a des mousses au dos,
\nLa cloche des b\u00e9liers sonne nos heures pures.
\nPour nous chauffer, sit\u00f4t que la lune a l\u2019\u0153il clos,
\nLe soleil comme un b\u0153uf fume dans l\u2019aube nue ;
\nCar sur nos pics le ciel de lin ti\u00e8de est tendu
\nEt notre front obscur est touch\u00e9 par la nue
\nLorsqu\u2019elle vient dormir dans les ch\u00eanes tordus.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"parent":0,"template":"","meta":{"inline_featured_image":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"default","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"default","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"set","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}}},"annee":[561],"poems-book":[562],"poemes-theme":[345,950,149,383],"poete":[565],"class_list":["post-12219","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-561","poems-book-tandis-que-la-terre-tourne","poemes-theme-campagne","poemes-theme-lieu","poemes-theme-nature","poemes-theme-nourriture","poete-cecile-sauvage"],"yoast_head":"\n