In a forest where they drive off the tree trunks

and carve the light

It must be

You must be

 

To open the wound

to write in its blood - with its blood

That means, your yearning there for her

Is the feeling of the sail/tent of her exile in you

And your approach to the secret of existence

 

............

 

In truth

You still have the distance to set a mirage ablaze,

A step that cuts across the absence

Flytings!

Flytings!

You pass down the road and raise the flags.

 

O this surprise,

go away from intuition

And O my senses,

go near to my thoughts!

Pile up, you narrow vessels for things

upon the things

And invent the conversation of the chain

And the market wounded in error

The conversation of wrist-shackle and restraint

 

Hurry up, naked things - things having pity on me

Toward me,

Restrain my superstitions in curses and smoke

In sunsets that arise as exclamation

exclamation

And proclaim your ghosts to me

to me

Ignite in celebration and good-tidings

In mourning

In mourning

As good omen