Poetry
Not to be Understood
Translated by Mary Ann Caws
In the course of the so dark struggle and the so dark immobility, terror blinding my kingdom, I rose from the winged lions of the harvest to the cold cry of the anemone. I came to the world in the deformity of each being’s chains. We both freed ourselves. I drew from a compatible morality an irreproachable help. Despite a thirst to disappear, I was prodigal in waiting, in valiant faith. No renouncing.
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