Translation:Absolute

Color of old clothes. A dark July, and a just-reaped August. And a watery hand that grafted evil fruits onto the resinous pine from boredom.

Now that you’ve anchored, dark clothes, you return drenched in a sumptuous scent of time, of abbreviation... And I have sung the desired and overflowing feast.

But can’t you, Lord, against death, against the limit, against what ends? Ah, the old-clothing-colored sore, how it slightly opens and smells of burnt honey!

Oh sublime unity! Oh that which is one for all! Love against space and against time! A single heartbeat, a single rhythm: God!

And as the boundaries shrink back in a rough unyielding disdain, there’s a stream of serpents in the virgin plenitude of 1. A wrinkle, a shadow!