(Translated from the French by Karthika Nair.)
He gazes uncomprehendingly
He is distant
My blood is weary
I lean over
My fingers resemble his
I know not
He is distant he is vacant
Where will his tiredness go huddle?
There should be flowers to keep us alive
My fingers settle
He is pale where is his blood?
What must one not see? Where does the improbable cease?
He would gaze at where life seeps in
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