Bestiary in my clover

Let us suspect that poesy might be one situation among the alloys of life, the approach of sorrow, the exhorted election, and the kissing at this very moment. It would only separate from its true heart if fullness discovered its fatality, the combat would begin between void and communion. In that transposed world, it would remain to us to make the brief Elogy of one suspected, the only one that keeps the power of speech on the brink of tears. Its young dementia at twelve removes thinking to enrich its tomorrows would delude itself about the least frail despotic adventure anyone alive has lived while rubbing shoulders with chaoses that passed for irresistible. They were so only intrinsically but without a trace of caprice. Come from where? From a calendar turned upside down even though united to Time, without its usury being felt.

Forthrightness of one suspected...

Fatigue is favorable to generous animals when we show ourselves sensible of their oppressed existence.

Nausea after a precipitate of dreams. Then an original breath of terror and happiness. Little in sum.

What has become of the wolf in these times of abandon? It aligned itself with man when it protested it could not bend to the latter; and the cage opened first before the space of its death, just over its pressed paws.

René Char