a translation for Eric Weir
At ten o’clock in the morning The young man could not remember His heart was stuffed with dead wings and linen flowers. He is conscious that there is nothing left In his mouth but one word. When he removes his coat soft ashes Fall from his arms. Through the window he sees a tower He sees a window and a tower. His watch has run down in its case He observes the way it was looking at him. He sees his shadow stretched Upon a white silk cushion. And the stiff geometric youngster Shatters the mirror with an ax. The mirror submerges everything In a great spurt of shadow.