Still mapping, we explored the left bank of the river
The present had to be sent by water
A distance of almost a hundred miles
The currents underneath were like icy reptiles
"We live only a hour down the river", she said
"A hundred miles then is not a bluff", she added
We did not like the idea of someone
Telling us how to do our duty
Telling us which water to cross
Which bones to share with dogs
Which eye to offer to the blind...
Later in the day, we barred the way
Bearing griefs of all sorts
It was September 7 before we brought our souls back
The road North was smooth 
And the hills faded into the background
One must never ask a priest his name
Or where he comes from
Just as yesterday we talked 
about our grand-fathers, the autdoor miners...
Minor characters, that is what we are
You do not need to ask me...
You do not need to feed me...
Minor characters, that is what we are...


(c) Jean Marie Mathoul