When the world has dwindled to a single dark wood
gawped at by these four kindred eyes — to where we stood
on a beach, two loyal children — to the musical house
we loved to delve in — I’ll find you, little mouse.
Should there be but one solitary old man, calm
and bearded in his luxury — I’ll kneel before you, little ma’am.
Should I realize every one of your memories,
should I be she who knows the muzzle — I’ll suffocate you, little tease.
When we are strong as strong, who backs down? When gay as gay,
who falls about with laughter? When nasty, nasty, what can they say?
Put on your finery, and dance, and laugh. Reap and sow.
I never could throw love out the window.
Beggar-girl, monstrous child, my counterpart! It’s all the same
to you, these miserable women on the game,
their wiles my quandary. O wrap me to you with that voice
of yours, impossible voice! That flatters my despair, my vice.
Overcast morning in July. A taste of ashes
drifts through the sweaty air. A smell of wood sleazes
on the hearth. Fetid flowers. Chaos on the boulevards,
canal mist dank on the fields. Why not incense and peignoirs?
I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple, garlands
from window to window; gold chains from star to star, and I dance.
The mountain pool smokes night and day.
What witch will loom against the pallid sunset? What spray
of violets fall into the white décolleté?
While public funds are squandered by the great and good and proud,
a bell of rose-coloured fire tolls in the clouds.
Reviving a pleasant taste of India ink, a black
powder drizzles on my vigil. I consult the almanac,
turn down the gaslight, throw myself onto the bed.
And, turning towards the shadows of a riverbed,
I see you, O my lovely girls, my queens, emerge
in dripping radiance to drag me from the verge!