The right hand lets sand slip through.
All transformations are possible.
Far off, the sun sharpens on the stones its haste to finish.
Describing the landscape matters little,
Just the pleasing length of a harvest.
For my two eyes a brightness
Like water and fire.
What is the role of the root?
Despair has severed all its links
Raising his hands to its head.
Seven, four, two, one,
In the street a hundred women
I won't see again.
The art of love, liberal art,
the art of dying well,
the art of thinking,
incoherent art, the art of smoking
the art of pleasure, medieval art,
decorative art, the art of reasoning,
the art of reasoning well,
the art of poetry, mechanical art,
erotic art, the art of being a grandfather,
the art of dancing, the art of seeing,
the art of charm, the art of the caress,
Japanese art, the art of playing,
the art of eating, the art of torturing.
But I've never found what I write in what I love.
