The nude has got a running nature,
running has got a tiring nature,
tiring has got a longing nature.
Longing has got Her nature,
Beautiful she was like the shade of an idea,
her spine smelled like skin of a child when being near,
like stone when freshly broken,
a cry in a tongue no longer spoken.
The day is gliding, pulling behind it
through the low window the low tone colours
as if you would have pushed it with your thin hands
just lifted from my cuddle.
Yet again we are no longer ourselves,
we don't know where we begin and where
we end, in that given space,
leaning upon the column of these seconds.
I open my eye and
I am watching you.
My shoulder, my heart, this cold,
everything was waving behind it
Why do I ever love you, dreamy lady
curling round me like smoke or like a vine
around my chest, around my temples,
always tender, so delicate, so wavy?
I love rains, I so passionately love rains,
the rains that went mad and calm rains,
maidenly rains and rains like unbridled women,
fresh rains and the boring rains without end.
I am alive.
Nothing human is alien to me.
I barely have time to wonder at my existence, but
I am always glad that I am.
To Vasile Pârvan
In every hollow was seated a god.
Dedicated to Daedalus, founder of the celebrated lineage of artists, the Daedalids
I
With itself it starts