Perhaps my choice, my eternity
That lasts no longer than recommencing,
Than banishing, petrifying of the roots.
Sometimes I look at you, sometimes at you.
Sometimes your fields are full, sometimes wrinkled,
And while this year evaporates, I forfeit
The five bloody circles and elsewhere my love.
Like a vista I forget the thumb-marked wall
Behind which so many peepers glowed.

You defy the drumming days, the new night,
Created but tarnished by your chilly dress.
Your skin becomes a clattering gown, a sojourn
Amid the scents of grassy grounds.
Your eyes shiver and shine, discolour my pity
To a shadow that fades what has gone.
That sinks and gives birth. And freezes.

But huntable, the hunt begins for you too
Expressing seeing and hearing, inhabiting
The evil fog, time desperate and precise
In which flight becomes bold and superfluous
The digging, the stiffening and the peaceful bobbing
After the estrangement, the cleansing of the needle.
No organ will play, no bow will protect you
When the seedless abyss of pain
Covers your beauty with splendour.

Translation: Paul Vincent