Half Integral

Will remain an H.
A light blow imperceptibly filling the air
An H with no name
Just showing it's still alive with tiny traces of wetness
On the sheets
A breath
The discreet one of a sleeping child
But everybody is gone away now
The air is the only one still there
The breath is regularly lifting the breast
Up and down and up and down
In an empty space
Is an H with no clear mission
Maybe remembering it was once a letter
The first letter of a word.
Such a long time ago, a meaning now useless
The air is able to stay with no one to inhale it
It was the beginning of a mute moment
But the exhalation of an aspirate H
As an expired letter blowing over an inspired desire
The rest of the word is lost somewhere
It certainly found an other letter
Like an M.
But what could a sleeping child ever do with it?

November 2010