With the angel. Alone
pounding the night.

As the desert made it:
cold and at the height of summer.
The night but without its fear.

Such more than ever
continuing inexhaustible
Californian blue.

Cackling, jabbering
and Jessa, she, sighing.
She in flight, escaping.

Going into that night
Going. And going.

—Translated from the French by Paul Vangelisti