The butterfly disclosed in your eyes for an instant was my joy in being so sorrowed by your refusal. An instant, a being—and the wall opens its tetric mission to the fields. Involving your happy mirror in my adoring hands I with- drew the figure of a hero, and you opened the sky and the wall to my window. Inside your figure were mirrors, eternal paradise, my underwater reverie, subjected to biting of yours distinct from common phraseology, winter suntan and illusory sign of your envy. * The course of my journey was a delicate flame of silver, o girlhood that reawakens when all the ships have lifted anchor! Course of my girlhood was the river that drilled a silent mount against a scarlet sky. Thus did the dance of death unwind: hours of prayer and of pomp, the hours entire that break now upon the bristling journey and damp beach, ice that moves. * All the world's a widower if it's true that you walk still all the world's a widower if it's true! All the world is true if it is true that you walk still, all the world's a widower if you do not die! All the world is mine if it is true that you are not alive but solely a lantern to my oblique eyes. Blind was I left by your birth and the consequence of the new day is naught but night for your distance. Blind I am because you walk still! blind I am that you should walk & the world's a widower & the world is blind if you walk still seizing my celestial eyes.
From Locomotrix by Amelia Rosselli, edited and translated by Jennifer Scappettone. Copyright © 2012 by University of Chicago Press. Used by permission of the publisher.