43
This horse drinking at the fountain,
this leaf touching us as it falls,
this empty hand, this mouth that wants
to speak to us but barely dares—
all signs of life that is appeased,
all dreams of a sleep-walking pain:
oh, let the one whose heart's at ease
search for and console creation.
46
Two wagons full of bricks
pass through the golden day:
a rose tone that asserts
and then, in turn, denies.
Why does this softened tone
signify so suddenly
a new conspiracy of life
between us and tomorrow?
54
In the animal eye I saw
a peaceable life that endures,
the unprejudiced calm
of dispassionate nature.
A beast knows what fear is
but keeps going nonetheless,
and in its field of plenty
a certain presence grazes
with no taste for someplace else.
comfort me
Comfort me from wherever you are—
alone, we are quickly worn out;
if I place my head on the road,
let it seem softened by you.
Could it be that even from afar
we offer each other a gentle breath,
and that a pure regret of absence
covers these stones with down?
child at the windowsill
The child at the windowsill waits for his mother's return. This is that slow hour when his whole being is transformed by endless waiting. . . .
What can satisfy his soft preliminary glance which all around him sees only what differs from the unrivaled motherhood?
These vague passers-by leveled by his vigil, are they at fault, say, for not being her who satisfies so much...?