Into the night of the heart your name drops slowly and moves in silence and falls and breaks and spreads its water.

Something  wishes for its slight harm
and its infinite and short esteem,
like the step of a lost one
suddenly heard.

Suddenly, suddenly listened to
and spread in the heart
with sad insistence and increase
like a cold autumnal dream.

The thick wheel of the earth,
its moist with oblivion,
spins,
cutting time
into inaccessible halves.

Its hard goblets cover your heart
spilt upon the cold earth
with its poor blue sparks
flying in the voice of the rain.

How pure and cold you are
by sunlight or by fallen night...

How triumphal and boundless
your orbit of white,
and your bosom of bread,
high in climate,
your crown of black trees,
beloved,
and your lone-animal nose,
nose of wild sheep
that smells of shadow and of
precipitous,
tyrannical cold heart.