And all the time, and all the time, my love, 950 You too are there, beneath the word, above The syllable, to underscore and stress The vital rhythm. One heard a woman’s dress Rustle in days of yore. I’ve often caught The sound and sense of your approaching thought. And all in you is youth, and you make new, By quoting them, old things I made for yo

Quand on ferma la porte du cimetière, j’aurais dû rentrer tout droit chez moi, mais j’errai encore quelque temps. J’avais une terreur instinctive de ma chambre où tout était sombre et vide : un atelier de ferblantier abandonné où j’avais finalement obtenu la permission de demeurer provisoirement. Je flânai au hasard, passai devant le dépôt, descend

SONO’S DEATH POEM Don’t just stand there with your hair turning gray, soon enough the seas will sink your little island. So while there is still the illusion of time, set out for another shore. No sense packing a bag. You won’t be able to lift it into your boat. Give away all your collections. Take only new seeds and an old stick. Send out some pra

When I opened my eyes I saw nothing but the pool of nocturnal sky, for I was lying on my back with outstretched arms, face to face with that hatchery of stars. Only half awake, still unaware that those depths were sky, having no roof between those depths and me, no branches to screen them, no root to cling to, I was seized with vertigo and felt mys