A bright of spring in the heat of afternoon – in encrustation: “How small a thought it takes to fill a whole life”, repeats clings – naked torso on the unrumpled bed and polyphony banishes the outer in, only, the actual sound, beyond even gestures – an incident took shape: some drops of orange juice, just head lifted, drip on torso, run down, flow slow, in hollow of chest of transparent orange traces – to watch astonishes, in remote unusual, distant is inexplicable, take it as sexual and mortuary: I play the dead Christ – born the strange total, understands not and lulls me to sleep. Another day, in morning, as soon as I’m out on the street – in encrustation again: “How small a thought it takes to fill a whole life”, of feminine voices entwine, always cuts off the sound of footsteps and deserted streets: my Red desert – the city is the buildings in echoing counter-dive, goes on, transforms into anxious monumental of sight for first time: the usual astounds maximum. Another day, dark and continuous drizzle – a departure, lulls me to sleep in the train, creates the awakening to blue sky with light of late afternoon – again in sleep, walk through carriages, in the inverse of defilading landscape, add the sum of differential velocities – rays filter by glass and trees mark and carve – superimposes rocky steps from the jolting, in the deserted corridors, in the compartments, between the rows, young sleeping women, that the golden light assigns to their faces, see again the Young women in the garden – the image adds to reality, to the strange in quickness says beauty, natural to the moment, arise facts of all, accepts as meaningless or else stillness metaphors the new. (Translated by Natalie Lithwick)