It happens that one pronounces
a few words just for oneself
alone on this strange earth
then the small white flower
the pebble like all those that went before
the sprig of stubble
find themselves re-united
at the foot of the gate
which one opens slowly
to enter the house of clay
while chairs, table, cupboard,
blaze in a sun of glory. |
| From Transparence of the World by Jean Follain, translated by W. S. Merwin. Translation copyright © 2003 by W. S. Merwin. Reprinted by permission of Copper Canyon Press. All right reserved. |
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