Vigil

My dear André Rouveyre

Disturbed a Devil’s Snuffbox fair

One knows not when one’s going

Nor when one’s returning

At the Mercure de France

March returns in hopeful tints

I’ve sent in my paper

On squared paper

I hear the hooves of big artillery horses going at a trot

on the highway where I keep vigil

Up to my ears I’m wrapped in a mantle like the sky

gray as a pencil

Even

Heaven

Alack

Track

Where

Hail

Pale

Smile

Of the moon watching me write

Guillaume Apollinaire