Translation:The Narrow Loge

Closer, closer. I am very well. It’s raining; and it imposes a cruel limitation. Move forward, move your foot forward.

Until what hour will these hands that imitate a bramble patch not raise the curtains? Do you see? The others, so comfortable, such effigies. Closer here, closer here!

It’s raining. And today another ship will pass loaded with funeral ribbons; it will be like a black and deformed thread uprooted from the sphinx-like illusion.

Closer here, closer here. You are at the border and the boat can drag you to sea. Ah, immobile curtains, symbolic... My applause is a feast of black roses: To cede my place! And in the clamor of my resignation, a thread of infinity will bleed.

I must not be so well; Move forward, move your foot forward!