Translated by Peter Robertson
|An Apologia for Knowledge VI
That night the most credulous eyes
would deny to the point of futility,
That night with nothing left to cling to,
The solitary stare impaled on the blot of ink.
Closer to Us
Run, run to deliverance
and you will find that all is there,
and gather up its infinite wealth,
running so fast the cord will snap
at the sound a huge bird makes as it soars
into the ether, the flag a speck.