The earth herself lies awake amid dishevelled bedclothes.
All her trees are suspended from the sky
The cliffs, with faces gouged by endless wind and rain,
They crowd around you and breathe a raucous air.
There are powerful storms, whirling clouds, invisible fists --
You merely laugh and close the shutters,
Shut the blinds and draw the curtains.
The war is not over for the most of us:
We have yet to recognize the enemy.
Suddenly I have felt the swollen arm of a wooden chair
Suddenly the surest assurance belies lies, belies fears,
Rings with a hollow sound.
A mirror-image of a mirror stood up before me.
I saw it come out of a ripe egg
which dangled on a green-brown branch
and flourished in the moonlight.
Projected like a film on the eggshell was a crack
where raspberry seeds ran out,
where Solidity had no name
and Appearance itself was Beauty.
Then the film was stretched and torn,
giving way to emptiness. . .
And oh! my iris my pupil my vitreous humor! --
What could I see without you?