Wisp

by Johanne Boulat

When the wind strummed
The electric lines
I think I finally heard it then –

What whisper made
The heads of wheat
Sway in the timid light
Of unburnt day –

It was the flesh of clouds
The breeze of opened reveries.

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Johanne  Boulat is a freelance translator and editor. She will soon begin her Masters in English at The University of Lausanne.