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Poem published in the book Jésus-Christ maître de laïcité:

The Game of the “I”

Such as one made me, I was born “I”,
And without being of snow white.
Although called with all wishes,
Of fickleness, what do I have!
And because I was born “I”,
I am space between two seats.
So it seems to me idler
To ask the question where am I going?
If ever a choice besieges it,
My “I” is dressed in raw silk,
Leaves the bure far from his eyes
Loan to reject it, do I conceal it?
The gesture enriches or lightens.
In order not to be trapped,
remain the tree that ascends to heaven:
The Rameau de Jesse, do I know it?
One day, the “I” disintegrates.
And me, worn in beige ecrin,
When it will be the end of the game
Above four shoulders, would I fear?

Paris sept 15th. 97