Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?
I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
-But I've just noticed that my mind is asleep.
Then you'll feel your cheek scratched... A little kiss, like a crazy spider, Will run round your neck... And you'll say to me : "Find it !" bending your head - And we'll take a long time to find that creature - Which travels a lot.
The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses