Monday, December 21, 2009

Varnish on an oar

> The west wind blows.
> The west wind, curious,
> in through the open window
> and leaves through an opened book.
> Which thus reads itself.
> The varnish on the oar
> dries more quickly now
> and at least one fly
> is always left there
> in the hardening, clear substance.
> Like a question from outside,
> from crystal-clear, empty and
> nocturnal space.
> And the book reads itself
> not without reflection.

English by John Irons

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