...Memory lives, sweet, undisturbed, plain
like the sound of falling rain,
in a fragrant garden; tears of grief and then
silence and sleep, and rain, rain again.
Memory, live, sweet whisper, run through my veins
less than a hint, keep me within your embrace.
Painful foreboding, watchful, exhausted, strained
drinks of your waters, o memory, looks for your face
blindly, with feverish lips saying prayers to leaden gods,
asking whatever may please their joyless unyielding mirth
Hold me, o memory, sweetheart, and be my abode
under the snow, under the ice, under earth.
Paris, 25/09 - 02/11 2012
