lay like scales on my eyes

a traveler would be hurrying

being made comfortable

uncle pulling my curls

a rope let down from heaven

gusts of memory

rooms in winter

or lodging

‘that is not the way’

take a mental share

unable to guide it back

studied the envelope for five minutes

loosely-knotted

every useless thing in my house

limping, energetic, deaf

the rapture of waiting became a torture

a foretaste of the pleasure

how much more

a reflection of the western sky

changed to an opalescent pallor

almost too ravishing

a vivid azure

impregnating and radiating

then and forever

almost arrogant charity

[translated by C.K.Scott Moncrieff]