This day is no longer the tomb
This day is no longer the tomb
of my desires,
it is their garden.
On no through roads,
on uninhabitable faultlines,
on bits of shadow and sun,
in courtyards,
in the tournament of crossroads,
in the hollow of lake shores,
from daybreak to nightfall
I have fomented,
I have devastated,
my crazy roses.
I have burned the garments
of eyes numerous as the stitches
of air and landscapes,
I have drawn
their naked outline,
I have celebrated
absolute summer.
Translated by Anthony Rudolph
Page(s) 266
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