Escheat

Night was very ancient

When fire opened it just.

Thus it is with my house.

One doesn’t kill the rose

In the wars of heaven.

One banishes a lyre.

My chagrin persisting,

Out of a cloud of snow

Obtains a lake of blood.

Cruelty loves to live.

O waterspring that lied

To our twin destinies,

I shall raise of the wolf

This sole pensive portrait!

René Char