keep wake dusk behind double
windows the hill and I
ghost mirror alloyed wit
in wit snowskin and list
less cuts the sorbs
in the linoleum of the heavens
narrow like dreams
in the falling ceiling light I
wish nothing but the future
of the quilt, light-tight to the hanging light
may she come close to me I
am waiting here and whatever
more oldish cough
knocking on the sleep wall
a sink and pines saps, poor
I say
a n t e e k s i
and push smoke from the black balcony
a stone seeks not more swiftly the ground.

Translated by Ann Cotten