Down there
Music of omissions
Descends to summon him

And thus it finds him,

Provident and attentive,

Beaten by the yellowish air
That the dark seeds of the night cross.

Within reach, the shadow dwellers
Have lost their menace:

Stains of disappointment...

Certain wakeful surroundings...

...And not another thing joins
Him.
The strange elaboration of blessings
Neither the shiver of flags and tools.

Nor useful factory lights arrive

There,

Where climates halt and prices
Neglect the names of exactitude,

There
Where only blood burns
Silently,
In the way recently bitten lips burn:
Urging to kindle a little
—A little more—
The world.

There sizes and obligations lose track,
Under that very common, acid light
That lingers in cities after evenings
Of rain,
When the use of things turns off
And there is tangible fear.

And there,
Drawn back and scarce,
Under the absolute isle of a lamp,
Ears charged
And the sip of breathing held,
Trimming for himself a way of disappearing,
Defends his truth
He who doesn’t conform and breaks
The mirrors,
He who opens at their core the words
In search of another light
And rings all forbidden bells,
He who carefully forgets, who cannot stop
Amazement, who decides he wins
When losing
And moves towards the paper names
What he most loves
So as to hold it near.

He who corrects his own breath.

He who lightens his tongue

And brings disorder.