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Fair windows open and shut
Hung from the lips of day
Fair windows in their shirts
Fair windows with hair on fire in deep darkness
Fair windows on cries of alarm and on kisses
Over me under me back of me there are less of them than in me
Where they make only one crystal blue as blades of wheat
A diamond divisible into diamonds as needful for all the Bengalis to take a
swim
And the seasons which are not four but fifteen or sixteen
In me among them the one when metal blooms
The one whose smile is less than a dentelle
The one when the dew at evening unites women and stones
The seasons luminous as the inside of an apple out of which you cut a
quarter
Or like an eccentric quarter inhabited by beings in league with the wind
Or again like the wind of the spirit that each night with limitless birds
shoes horses that have nostrils of algebra
Or like the formula
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Tincture
of passionflower
Tincture of hawthorn
Tincture of mistletoe
Tincture of squill
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}
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aa 50cc
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5cc
3cc
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for galloping noise
The seasons pull up mesh by
mesh their shining net from my eyes' living water
And in that net there is that which I have seen that is the spire of a
fabulous seashell
Which to me recalls the cloistered execution of the emperor Maximilian
There is that which I have loved that is the loftiest branch of the coral
tree that will be hit by lightning
That is the sundial's style at real midnight
There is that which I know well that which I know so little that lends me
your talons old delirium
To raise me with my heart all along the cataract
Aeronauts speak of the air's efflorescence in winter
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