Feiz ha breiz*
The watchman on the alert, a luminous pulse on the black ink, a scourer of foam on the fishing route, traces the coastal path with
a stroke of the pen. The port before the grain, bernique on the concrete staircase, sipping the contemplative isolation at the blue
hour in a glass of white. A mackerel interlaced with laurels, the rail finally mates with the boat in an excess of rust, traps and blue
nets mate in the dread of winter in Finistère. Atlantic with dry ink, Cornish seagulls topped by the post, salt flower on a bed of clams
to dry the iodized tears at the bottom of the hold. An exacerbated beauty, a dishevelled soul, an overflowing virility stare
discourteously at the grain of sand on the edge of the billig.
*Faith and Brittany.
France 2018.
a stroke of the pen. The port before the grain, bernique on the concrete staircase, sipping the contemplative isolation at the blue
hour in a glass of white. A mackerel interlaced with laurels, the rail finally mates with the boat in an excess of rust, traps and blue
nets mate in the dread of winter in Finistère. Atlantic with dry ink, Cornish seagulls topped by the post, salt flower on a bed of clams
to dry the iodized tears at the bottom of the hold. An exacerbated beauty, a dishevelled soul, an overflowing virility stare
discourteously at the grain of sand on the edge of the billig.
*Faith and Brittany.
France 2018.
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