l'aigle catalan

crowned l'aliga barcelona, this gegant dances to a solemn chant...
on a wintry sunday morning he appears in the plaça sant jaume...
with his noble wings unfurled, he glides through the flocks gathered
where the flightless aristocracy hides behind drab and tattered feathers...

les faucons-prisonniers

they peregrinate no more, these regal birds of prey...
encased in a glass cage, their feathered forms are unruffled...
their sharp eyes unseeing, yet their heads are held high...
while tiny hearts still beat in flight over some dusty skies...

chauve-souris-femme

darkly over the Ile-Saint-Louis flits a winged creature of the night...
by day she folds up her black cloak and retreats behind heavy doors...
the late tolling from the belfries of Notre Dame soon put her to flight...
swooping low along the river in search of love and other bites...