Ne touche pas à ça
Encres, stylo uniball, feutre, crayons de couleur, découpages sur papier, colle à bois
michael lilin 2017
Don’t touch, the flame will burn the fingertips.
Thrust your whole palm into the fire,
thrust it into the cool of my fur,
for I come from beyond the forests and swamps.
Once my lungs were filled with ice-cold mist,
snow crystals scraped my antlers.
Ice fields shifted. I spoke with a human voice.
What fine words, what low lines. My voice resounded
through the forest. Trees stirred, the lawn shrank.
I came closer, past the first suburbs,
the first lit houses, your home somewhere among them.
the glacier’s edge will stick to your nails.
(Olli Heikkonen, 2007)