Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Leave-Taking Of The Wind

Fields of mimosa are bivouacked on the village hillside.
In the distance, at picking time,
you will have an extremely sweet-smelling encounter with a girl
whose arms have been occupied
the entire day with these fragile branches. Just like a lamp
whose halo of light is perfume,
she will leave, her back to the setting sun.

It would be a sacrilege to talk to her.

Little sandal brushing the grass, let her pass.
Perhaps you will be able to discern
the ghost
of the night's dampness on her lips.

after the French of René Char

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