Anguish of Fate

I ask the open door
on the white wall
I ask the roof
And the field sloping
behind the house
A hand enfolds the earth in its fingers
and tosses it to changing hues of a sky which is
here the russet of a hare
All the other animals scamper towards the east
lower down
alone I stay watching through the air
laden wagons coming along roads
still almost impassable
In winter they are torrents and you can hear
ships in distress going down and the choir
of shipwrecked groaning
And yet we are at a distance from the sea
Attendant hills surround the hollow there you can see
the signals of ships’ lamps before they vanish
Huge numbers are carved on the trees
and dinghies advance slowly on their oars
to seize the signal coming from the lighthouse
At the zenith a bird perches
and sings

And his word has taken the meaning of the wind
the direction of the islands

But no threatening gesture would make him leave
* *
*
The Bow surrounding this sinister desolate landscape
loses its color
I think it grows threadbare
* *
*
And if all I’ve seen had deceived me
If there was nothing behind that canvas
but a bare hole
What reassures me a little is that I could always
cling to the edge
Keep to the slope
And leave on earth a frail memory
A gesture of regret
A bitter grimace
The best I have done