Tonight my clock is gasping
next to my darkened temple, like
the apple of a revolver that turns over
beneath the trigger without finding the bullet.
The white moon, immobile, is filled with tears
and it’s an eye that aims... And I feel as if
the great Mystery manifests itself in a hostile and ovoid
idea, in a bright red bullet.
Oh, hand that limits, that breathes
behind all the doors, and that gives life
to all the clocks, yield and go on your way!
Over the gray spider of your frame,
another great Hand made of light bears the weight of
a bullet in the blue shape of a heart.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.| Original: |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1927. The author died in 1938, so this work is also in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 80 years or less. This work may also be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. |
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