I always know I can – if I want – find,
gleaning through doings with a sieve:
I measure the ballistics beforehand
and then do exactly the opposite.
I can scour the sordid warmly,
tracking the emptiness of alone
through tunnels thick with phony dark
that turn up on the prettiest postcards.
I can gaze down the gaping precipice
loving the love of those who jumped.
Translated by Ronald Puppo