Vigils

After Rimbaud

I Its the repose of lightning; neither fever nor languor on the bed or on the lawn. Its the friend; neither ardent nor feeble; the friend. Its the belovd; neither tormenting nor tormented; the belovd. Air and world undiscovered. Life. -Was that it then? -And the dream freezes. II Illumination returns to the hewn wood of the house. From the two extremities of the room scattered decors, harmonic elevations join. The mural opposite the watcher is a psychological succession of partitioned images, jet streams, geologic upheavals a dream, intense and rapid of sentimental groups with beings of all character among all appearances. III The vigil lamps and carpets make the sound of waves, along the night, the length of the keel and around steerage. The sea of the vigil, like Emilys breasts. The tapestries, just at the midpoint, a tangle of emerald lace where cast the doves of the vigil.

IV The plaque of the dark hearth, of real suns on struck sands; O, the fosse of the magi, sole view of dawn, this once.