It is in that remote rushing
within the heart
that everyone recognises
his proper destiny.
A dream strictly forbidden:
the idea of infinity
even quotidian
accidentally bequeathed
to the body by love.
Caught and locked up
to preserve its
taste intact,
extracted from the void
kept long but vainly
between the thighs,
like water
slipping anyway
from your hand.

Translated by Boris Peters