It’s good to have chosen
A living home
And housed time
In a ceaseless heart
Quand dorment les soleils sous nos humbles manteaux
Dans l'univers obscur qui forme notre corps,
Les nerfs qui voient en nous ce que nos yeux ignorent
Have these faces come from my memory
and have these gestures touched earth, or sky?
Is this man alive as he seems to believe
with his voice, and this smoke on his lips?
I shuffle faces like cards
in spite of myself, and all
are dear to me. Sometimes
one falls to the ground
Fish with your slow memories in deep creeks,
what can I do here with these? I know nothing
of you, except a little foam and shadow
I do not always go alone to the bottom of myself.
I drag more than one live being with me.
Can those who are made to enter my cold caves
If you touch his hand, it's without knowing.
You remember him, but under another name.
In the middle of the night, in your deepest sleep
you say his real name and invite him to stay.