spring

to h arp

to put the child in a vase at midnight deep

and the wound

a compass rose with your beautifully nailed fingers

feathered thunder to see a bad water flow from the limbs of

the antelope

to suffer down there have you found any cows any birds?

the thirst and gall of the caged peacock

the exiled king by the light of the shaft mummifies slowly

in the vegetable garden

to sow broken grasshoppers to plant hearts of ants the fog of

salt a lamp pulls it off at the sky

the little gleams of glassware in the belly of stags in flight

on the tips of short dark boughs for a cry

Tristan Tzara