Monday, October 21, 2013

A Rough Translation of the Parenthetical Fragments of Empedocles—a language poem


(When you leave
When you leave
When you leave)

I will write postcards
that I will not
send

(to remember
to remember
to remember)

the flickers
of time that I fumbled to hold

(your body
your body
your body)           
                       to understand the silence,

(how the world passes
and passes
and passes)

(into your lungs and out
and out
and out
and out)
 again, parsing the bones

 around your breath,
(compelling
your body
your body
your body
compelling)

 a tidal force
 for mine.

                       friend, you are
fleeting—
(the light
into your lungs
how the world passes
your body.
Remember)
         your mooning eyes
                         reflecting
    our watery image,
    unaware of the ground
    beneath us, or

(how it opens
compelling
your body
compelling
how it opens)

                          how when you leave
                          the flames
                                    will also.

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